Jeremy and Brandon Smyth just opened a micro-cinema in Durham NC called Unexposed.
They have used HEFF (Haverhill Experimental Film Festival) to open people’s eyes to the amazing world of avante Garde independent moving pictures, which are often like moving expressionist art (My paintings that were up at the opening are below).
Now UNX (Unexposed) is a weekly film festival of sorts, and will be followed by THREE UNXs to supplement Bostons HEFF, in North Carolina each year. Chapel Hill, Durham and Raleigh will be the sites, and those will augment the Friday showings at 105 Hood Street Slot #5, near Ponysaurus and the Golden Belt art studios, that they will have in Durham each week.
Come on out if you’re within phone message of this BLOG.
This one was done about 1995. It has been with them since they moved from Brooklyn to Boston about 8 years ago.
And here’s some art by other artists I’ve come to love.
Three ducks fighting
This piece is by Sergei Andreevski. He’s one of the living masters, and hails from Macedonia. I got it by sponsoring the No Boundaries Artist Colony back in 1998.
Lucky lucky lucky, as Andreevski put it on the cover of a number of catalogues since then.
Joey Howard, rose window
Joey was the proprietor of Trace Gallery in Raleigh, back when freewheeling outrageous art was still seen in public in Raleigh. His own incorporated found marterial, interesting concepts, and a lot of silicone to bring it all together. Everyone I know misses Trace Gallery now, as that type of bohemian art scene has dried up around here. Holy conformity batman.
Anna Podris
Anna stil has a studio with her husband Keith Norval at Artspace in Raleigh. Wow her stuff continues to soar from this point, which was over a decade ago. She araely does watercolors anymore. Shame that.
The reason this one got named is that a very attractive woman from Savannah GA, or close to it, had just caught a 300 pound tuna when she wandered into a salad shop (SALADELIA, Durham, NC) and simply “had” to buy this painting. That was about a decade ago.
It originally hung with the left side as the top, but a keep eye spotted more narrative in this format, and so a painting was born, via re-hanging in another direction.
Isn’t that a great story? it’s another example of how extreme synchronicity works its magic in our lives. but it only works to your advantage if you are open to change, and spontaneous.
Now, how’s that for a story?
Note the chops on Stewart Copeland’s drumming. Short blasts of fills that amaze and dazzle.
What do you do, my friends, when the number of friends you had in the past swamps the number you have now? Can you bear all the good times gone, get over it and reach out to good times to come?
It’s Autumn, and the SAD folks (Seasonal Affective Disorder) out there are bracing for the long winter ahead. This type of depression and reclusive reaction to being SAD is probably within the bi-polar realm, but it can be brought on in many ways, and the first two or three times around maybe even the diseased will not notice it…but it’s real…especially in the American sense that everyone has a disorder.
Request: if someone you know has suddenly dropped off the map, reach out and ask them how they are doing.
Red morning wind kicks
leaves over vegetable cage.
Felled white oak patiently
absorbs blade after blade.
Chunked wood magically
stacks upon self, against mud.
Sawdust darkens. Winter rain
slows work, allows love time.
Pond refills, frightened turtle
relaxes. Cool December water
welcomes geese and herons
to rolling clay-built hills.
Man and woman join; new
child cries, coos, sleeps.
Six point buck stops, observes,
moves slowly out of view.
Fog lifts, sun creeps past
logs, warms three thousand
trees, sixty moons past white
buffalo’s birth. Bonus time.
II
Colorful turkeys gather
under lit moon; feathers
diffract beams to cedars
lined, two rows; historical
trees whose dead branches
dangle predictions at pond’s
edge. Three run to flight,
circle, drop back, contrive,
spread; anticipate coming of
spring. Winter rain cuts fog.
Hilltop oaks sparkle when
wind pushes limbs through
ethereal mist sent down to
visit this New year’s Eve.
III
Hair-bellied bull
stands. Dainty tied-foot
girl spreads parasol.
Protrusion emerges from
hair; pillow placed,
dress-becomes-blanket;
fantasy or farm boy
hovers, slogs. Heavy
mud slows progress.
Results equal effort:
parasol quivers, wind
stiffens, girl rolls, wakes
inner spirit, follows
heart-made trail
to pastoral life.
IV
Respected grandfather ties
green maple branches,
nails joints, rakes
leaves onto compost,
works tools vigorously,
reads after dinner,
speaks less than one
paragraph per day.
He is bent over:
seventy-eight years
translating, teaching, gardening.
Happiness, not out of reach,
but produced by
simple living.
V
Watching ladybugs,
tuning to zen movement,
could transform one
overindulged son-in-law.
First he must learn to
separate men’s and women’s
tasks, no easy lesson
for western man.
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