Having grown up in an entirely different culture, I did not grow up playing cowboys. There were no lassos, no toy guys, no horses (or rocking horses), no saddles, no Stetson hats, no cigarettes, no Midwestern drawl… But I would often read about it in books. This society - it made me curious. It all seemed so foreign yet so intriguing. Matt James’ work captures that allure. Perhaps this is why I find his work so ravishing.

One thing all these paintings have in common is smoking. All this smoking lends a kind of antique quality which is weird , I really dig it. I recently kicked that habit after 20 years, so I am kind of living vicariously through my characters.

Text and images kindly permitted to be republished on this blog by the artist himself. Please visit his site to view more of his work.

By early 1961, as many as 1,000 people a day flee East German communism for a better life in the capitalist west. Western media report the exodus. Eastern state-controlled media ignore it. Still, East Berliners can see their neighbors leaving. The migration continues. On Aug. 13, 1961, the East German government throws up a 27-mile-long wall of barbed wire across the city, splitting East from West Berlin to “protect citizens from capitalism”. Telephone lines and mail service between East and West Germany are cut. East Berliners can’t even visit family members in the West. The razor-sharp wire is replaced with tons of stone, steel and deadly force.

The Berlin Wall is born.

…It’s a very hard life, but I think the energy to do this is the result about the knowledge of freedom and unfreedom. I know freedom disappeared. The most in the west aren’t able to understand this. For them it’s freedom, like it is normal. I love this. But if you never even think about unfreedom and lost of freedom, you will never get a taste, the wonderful taste of freedom.

George Gafron
Former RIAS Berlin employee

Text from Newseum. Images from Life.

I believe extra-terrestrial lifeforms are out there, somewhere in the galaxy. They must be. The universe cannot be this lonely. Perhaps they have even visited us? Perhaps they are observing us from afar, paying close attention to our life, monitoring our behaviour and studying our mental capacity. How do they see our world? What do they think of it? What do they think of us? Surely they must have at least marveled at the immense natural beauty our Earth possesses? How “alien” is our landscape to them?

Maier-Aichen’s image compels with an aberrant surrealism through its bizarre perspective and intense hues. In a scene more reminiscent of science fiction invention than natural phenomenon, distant mountains give way to an expansive plateau which suddenly drops off into an engulfing tree covered gorge; a cluster of tiny structures balancing precariously on its edge. Exaggerating the sky’s vivid blue canopy and bathing the vegetation in a mephitic red, Maier-Aichen’s otherworldly terrain manipulates the photographic ‘real’ into a language more indicative of painting, invoking the sublimity of Abstract Expressionism in his boding terrain.

Additional text from Saatchi Gallery.

I used to dream of flying through space: observing life from afar. This habit of mine started not long after riding aboard an airplane for the first time in my life. Seeing parcels of land and clusters of buildings becoming tinier as I flew further away was a very fascinating experience. I was intrigued by the idea of scale - how acres of farmland transform into small patches of greenery, how the enormous expanses of mountain ranges become mere ripples and undulations, how lakes and rivers form intricate webs of small blue pools of water. It was a sight I had never seen before. And it was a sight that I would come to remember vividly. Now, in this day and age, with Google Maps as pervasive as it is, this bird’s eye view of our landscapes has become rather commonplace. Yet, somehow, the greatness of nature still fills me with awe.

Satellite images from Nasa.

Years ago, when I just arrived in Vancouver, I would often lose my way while navigating the often-confusing highways. I did not have the luxury of Google Maps, or any maps for that matter. On one of my mis-journeys, I had to drive through a bridge. I did not know its name at the time, but it was physically imposing. The huge structure supported eight lanes across its belly. Its gargantuan proportions, along with the dark misty deep at the end of it (where I was headed towards) sparked fear in me. It was a late Autumn evening, with winds howling and acres of undeveloped ‘jungle’ whizzing past me, and street lights were few and far in between. It was a rather unforgettable journey, albeit one I do not much cherish.

Todd Hido’s work reminded me very much of that trip. Eerie, mysterious and utterly frightful…

The eye is a powerful organ. It helps us distinguish the real from the unreal. It feeds into the brain, letting it interpret the signals. Is this reality? What makes it real? Seeing it? Touching it? Recognising it? What are the factors that help us separate the authentic from the fakeries? Certainly many other factors such as dimension, perspective, colouration and light all play a part? I have no answer, but seeing Marc Baruth’s work has certain triggered this fascination.

Our optical facility and mental capacity to process images that blur the line between reality and fantasy is astounding no?

Recently, two new murals by Roy Arden were unveiled at the Vancouver Convention Centre Expansion Project in Coal Harbour, Vancouver. Using historic photo images from the Vancouver Public Library, Arden’s giant collage Big House (2008) depicts events in pre-WWII British Columbia. The focus of Big House is the social and economic struggles, conflicts and realities of B.C.’s early years. The epic scope of the work takes in the culture of the native peoples, the conflicts between the various ethnic and social groups, the resource-based economy and the building of cities and societies. The second mural, People of British Columbia (2009), is a triptych that focuses on the experience of the natural sublime and the communion of peoples through leisure. Arden has collaged and manipulated early photos of bathers at local beaches into a poem reminding us that the object of our work and struggles is freedom and joy.

Text sourced from Monte Clark Gallery. To view more of Roy Arden’s work, please visit his website.

I am not one to remember my nocturnal emancipations. Try as I might, I cannot remember much. However, last night was quite the pleasant exception. I have been down with the flu for the past week, and so have not been able to sleep well, if at all. I am just now getting better, and was able to doze off quite well last night, even if I still wake up intermittently to give way to the violent outbursts of coughing fits. In my dream last night, I was vacationing. In Vienna. In the 17th century. I was around walking through dimly lit cobblestone streets. Horses sauntered past me, carriages in tow. Out emerged men and women in powdered wigs, dressed in the most ornate brocades and delicate silks, all heading towards Mozart’s Magic Flute. They all reminded me of Ray Caesar’s work.

I hope to visit them again soon.

As a child, I hated mealtimes. I was never interested in eating. Faced with the gargantuan task of feeding myself, I would divert my attention to playing with my food. All the broccoli florets would become a forest, all the mounds of rice would be molded into cliffs, I would pour in all the soup into the “valley” as the sea… It infuriated my mother as the rice would turn all soggy, and I’d then have a valid reason not to eat it (Ewww!). Now, if only all that experimentation led to these beautiful images of food dye by Corey Holms, perhaps my mother would have been a little more forgiving…

These photographs are available for purchase at Blanka.

In this day and age of Flickr and Facebook, I have very few pictures of myself taken. The only ones that surface are ones you see as my avatar. The last time I had a picture taken was during my trip to Malaysia - a year ago. I just do not like the idea of seeing a mirror image of myself. I am afraid of what I might see - of what the photographer might capture. Perhaps I have learnt to guard my emotions behind a wall so well as to have forgotten what it is like to let others get to know me in person. And that is the very challenge that I would have to face should I ever get the chance to sit for Dave Woody…

View more of Dave Woody’s portraits by going to his website.