My latest bit of writing, “Our Weights” is up at Neoteric Art. Check it out HERE. Above – Condition, multiple layer monotype in oil on paper, 2005.
Also, there is short and sweet review of my show at Orr Street Studios Gallery by Shea Boresi, HERE. If you’re in Columbia, Missouri, please come by the closing reception for the show on October 7th at 6pm.
And above is one of my best birthday gifts – a pair of glass tumblers, handmade by Ox-Bow awesome-lady Becky Wehmer! Thanks to my wife for getting them (a sort of end-of-Ox-Bow-decade-remembrance gift)!
Here’s a shot of the inside one of them – awesome!
I was here, in a tiny studio apartment…
…on Hinman Avenue in Evanston, IL. Alison called me and woke me up after the first plane hit.
I was working on this painting at the time… but I stopped.
I didn’t do anything for about a week – just TV coverage.
A few weeks later I’d start working at Good’s of Evanston, just down the street…
“The creation of legend is never known at the time of its genesis. Only displacement can imbue the past with the aura of sentimentality. Oh, to yearn, to stretch back with every fiber! To feel again that desire; the shrouded figures that play still on those lost, faded shores. Seeing ever so faintly the afternoon sunlight through old windows and recalling the impression of newfound knowledge in those dusty old books. Oh, to squeeze the eyes tightly, if only to glimpse for one moment that gone-ness – to feel it in the pit, to be in that pit, to stay: impossible. Knowing that it all exists only because I can’t stay there. Oh, to regress into my own idealization, to see myself again as I did then…”
“All these remainders have a keening tonality, a tinnitus of sounds, which we are unable to hear outwardly but which our hearts intuit. They are the silent sirens of what has gone before, and they call to us with accolades and accusations.” – from A Mnemonic of Longing, an unpublished essay, 2002-2009.
So ends my remembrance of Ox-Bow, ten years after. So much more could be said, be shown. I’ll leave it at this for now. The text I have shared in these posts is, perhaps (if only to me), my best artwork. It evokes for me the feeling of remembering and the instances that remembrance serves equally well. The words I’ve shared are as present to me as the times they transform and recreate. In turning them over, reading and re-reading them again and again, I sense anew so many true things. In them I know again the many secrets I held all those years ago. The creaking of the Inn, the internal affects of grasses and trees, and the whispers of the wind – which even now (this VERY second!) are stealing across the Lagoon and through the meadow, past the Mary K and over the dunes – are all as true now in these mnemonic words as they were when I wrote those words down. And they rest in me, speaking in me as to one who has glimpsed a deep but unnameable majesty. Darkness sits near (deathly close to) light.
- Matt Ballou, September 1, 2011.
Images from digital photos taken between May and August 2001.