December 15th, 2014
“No matter what type of childhood you have, there’s a feeling that you’re sensing more than what you’re seeing in front of you. That’s one of the things I remember from being young. A lot of information comes to us, not in the form of words or pictures, it’s a feeling in the air . . . something as simple as a tree doesn’t make sense . . . you haven’t got a handle on the rules yet when you’re a child. We think we understand the rules when we become adults, but what we’ve really experienced is a narrowing of the imagination.”
A retrospective of paintings, drawings, mixed media and early short films. Up through January 11, 2015.
A Must See!!!
David Lynch (mixed media on paper)
Six Men Getting Sick (David Lynch’s first film, 1967)
David Lynch “Boy Lights Fire” (with my intrigued daughter)
David Lynch “Hello” (drawing)
December 10th, 2014
Jungjin Lee’s photographs are an indelible experience. Mack is courageous in taking on the task of reproducing her large-scale, hand-made prints (from rice paper with applied emulsion). She is a seamless master in executing metaphorical imagery. Her work is not blasphemous, extroverted photographic pictorialism, but the work of a spirited, interior-working artist. Her books “Thing” and “Wind” were nice treats. Nice books, but a bit inferior to the resonating tonality and surface of her prints. Her exhibit at Aperture in 2011 was a transcendental experience. I had the pleasure of meeting her at the signing, where she gave an eloquent talk about place and spirituality. She is a soft-spoken photographer whose nature measures up to the quiet and poetic experience of her work. I’m faithful Mack will pull off a great representation of her photographs.
View spreads from Jungjin Lee’s Unnamed Road at Mack Books
December 1st, 2014
All day editing. A folder full of memory’s fragments. Chambourcin in our to-go cups on the Delaware in Frenchtown. Returning from my pacemaker check in Fort Dix, post house fire. My daughter’s hand in King’s Point, dressed in commercial hearts. Another night in Marriott. Another tungsten-lit night. Drunk-driver aftermath on 309 north. A forlorn warning . . . I’ve been humming all day J. Cash singing, “On a Sunday morning sidewalk.” This Sunday’s coming down.
© Michael Ast, 2014
