New Header Image. Something a bit simpler.

Yes, you noticed. I changed the picture at the top of the page. I liked the old one, but it’s more a collection of image fragments than anything, and I thought I’d like to put a picture at the top, however goofy, so it looks like a real person lives here. If the old one was a hodgepodge, you’re now treated to a different kind of excess. I was playing with Photoshop all day yesterday, making surfaces rise, fall, and rumple. On the whole, it’s not what I’d intended, and it will change in days to come, but how about let’s just put it up for now. Stuck up on the refrigerator until the next version emerges. The frantic reality of life as a daddy has me working digitally much more than I’m making prints & drawings lately, so perhaps it’s more honest to have a summary image that reflects the tools I’m actually using right now. Inky printmaking hands again someday soon, but for now, this. If you’re a big fan of the old header, here you go: (see below). Click on it to see it full-sized, and you can pretend it never left. The Joe Hill of  blog headers.

A collage of fragments from Eric Waldemar's prints and ink drawings.

Mage’s Boat

When someone is sent to find the old man, all else has already failed. If he’s not out in the boat, he’s out walking, some way off the paths, in-turned, but aware of each sound and scent, and each combination. He’s always just wrapping up as you arrive, tucking bundles in his bag. What do you need then? Cordial, willing he is, and not surprised to see you.

End of Empire

"End of Empire" - Etching/Monoprint by Eric Waldemar

Some kind of Gene Wolfe parlor of tarnished escutcheons, faceless poise, and rotting velvet, with remnants of ruling families maintaining the procedures of dignity as any trace of distinction and inbred purpose fade. Ancestral identity becomes mere cashflow and costume. Vast, dim, cobwebbed atriums (atria?), occasional letters to sign, from estate lawyers. Biscuits and the sherry bottle. Cuddling with grandfather’s trophies and certificates.

Odin/Odeon: Monoprints and Movies at Rude Gallery

Here’s some text I put together for the show at Rocky Mountain College of Art & Design, which opens, I believe, on the second of September, a Thursday. (Be there around 7 or 8 or later.) There’s a longer version that mentions Nickel-Odeons, refers to my Wednesday (Woden’s Day) night printmaking sessions, and so on, but this is the concise version. Thought I might as well post it for you. Hope it sounds inviting. It certainly sounds grandiose and pompous. Part of the fun. Grandiose, yes, but all true. 

DustBowl-EricWaldemar_monoprint_detail.jpgIn Odin/Odeon, Eric Waldemar takes a maximalist approach to a small installation space, assembling a piece of “visual chamber music” that combines an intricate arrangement of monoprints with tiny abstract video work. In ancient Greece, an Odeon was a type of small theater, designed for more intimate productions. The Norse god Odin, as the tale goes, hung upside down from the World Tree for nine days until vision and knowledge arose in his mind. In Waldemar’s studio, imagery is invited, awaited, then shaped as it emerges. In an art world that favors shrewd, spare concept and wry sampling, he persists in affirming the mysteries and depths of an open, exploratory work process that hangs between picture and nameless form.

Sorting continually through all that comes in, obliges, and reveals itself.

A few more items for the RMCAD show in September. It’s been a busy few weeks – just back from California, off soon to Missoula, MT for an iron pour, with the end of the semester a little more than a week away. There’s also an exhibition coming up in Ireland in a few months, with a video piece from me and a lettery installation by Rian. ArtWorks in Letterkenny, Co. Donegal, starting in late July. One recent surprise was an impromptu outing to see Jonsi with Carl at the Paramount. Keening, moaning, thundering Icelandic “post-rock” amidst a hyperintelligent, geeky, absolutely devoted crowd. Sheets of sound raining down like Ragnarok amidst grim, entrancing and/or silly animated projections. Teaching class the next day was a bit dreamy, with heavy eyelids, but I fooled ’em, I think. My own music and sound projects are moving slowly along, but I’m mostly accumulating fragments. I know, I know – the desire to make something whole dates me, and it’s all about fragments in this metaposthistoricalprotoneodada environment, but I still plug along with my quaint 20th century notions in my post-solitary bailiwick. Working on a number of things. I just spent a few minutes helping set up Michelle Ellsworth’s show at MCA Denver and had another look at Bill Stockman’s drawings while I was there. More to say about that, I think. For now, though, back to work, with tomorrow’s class to prep for.

Big Show of Little Pictures

Grabbing odd moments in a busy life as a daddy/lecturer/artist, I’ve been working on a series of tiny prints, some of which will appear in an intricate array at Rocky Mountain College of Art & Design’s Rude Gallery this September. There’ll be movies, too, old and new. You’ll find a few select images above, but you can also look to the image archive tab above for a sprawling, unedited view of recent excreta. Well, or you can just click here. Some of them duplicate images from other recent “slideshows” below. Be patient as the page loads. Lots of pictures. Hope you like ’em.

First, make it, then, later, maybe ask questions about it. Or leave it alone.

Again, a batch of newish prints, which are more or less unedited, on purpose. More and more, art students are trained to shape a consistent “brand.” I prefer a free mind to an art hobbled by professional strategy. One kind of artist can happily spend a whole lifetime exploring the many facets of a deliberately constrained idea. I’m the other kind. I prefer to look for a new sprout to cultivate each time I begin, rather than stubbornly hoeing my chosen row. Some things come out stronger than others, I think, but for the moment, I’m choosing to basically share the whole lot, for honesty’s sake.