FCC has a table at the OCADU Book Arts Fair on December 3rd.
Come visit us in the Great Hall between 10 am - 5 pm.
StoreHouse (left), Ashley Lil (right)
Friday 25 November 2011
Monday 21 November 2011
Together Again, Fossil Hill
Ashley Lil, Fossil Hill (left pendant), Toronto. 2010.
StoreHouse, Fossil Hill (right pendant), Toronto. 2010.
Friday 18 November 2011
Thursday 17 November 2011
The Glass Shoe Box
This is my favourite building located on the corner of Dovercourt and Dupont. I am always fearful that one day it will be knocked down :(Monday 14 November 2011
Ingram Gallery Presents:
BrianBURKE via Ingram Gallery
Three ring circus (2008) 45 x 72 oil on canvas
I love these paintings by BrainBurke. They evoke such an overwhelming feeling of despair I am left feeling helpless.
Reference Time
Date: Thursday November 10, 2011
Class: Rebellion in Art
Room: 7315
Subject: Man Smoking on Balcony
Start: 8:13 p.m.
Finish: 8:20 p.m.
Please Stay
I was thinking of turning this sketch into a large scale woodcut. The image would be printed several times without being re-inked.
Move into Despair
Henry Fuseli's Artist Moved by the Grandeur of Antique Fragments reminded me of Ally aka StoreHouse. x
Rudolf Bikkers's Studio
Having lunch at Rudolf's studio was amazing. Can you believe he bought the space (over 20 years ago) by trading his portfolio?!
Sunday 13 November 2011
The Vogel's
Herbert Vogel, a postal clerk, and Dorothy Vogel, a librarian spent 45 years collecting contemporary American art and amassed a collection of over 2,000 pieces.
If you want to know what true contentment looks like watch, Herb and Dorothy.
If you want to know what true contentment looks like watch, Herb and Dorothy.
Saturday 12 November 2011
J.M.W. Turner
Joseph Mallord William Turner, Die Mole von Calais, 1803.
Turner was accepted into the Royal Academy at age 14.
The Sleep of Reason Produces Monsters
I work better this way. Goya, The Sleep of Reason Produces Monsters.
Strange fits of passion have I known
STRANGE fits of passion have I known:
And I will dare to tell,
But in the Lover's ear alone,
What once to me befell.
When she I loved looked every day
Fresh as a rose in June,
I to her cottage bent my way,
Beneath an evening-moon.
Upon the moon I fixed my eye,
All over the wide lea; 10
With quickening pace my horse drew nigh
Those paths so dear to me.
And now we reached the orchard-plot;
And, as we climbed the hill,
The sinking moon to Lucy's cot
Came near, and nearer still.
In one of those sweet dreams I slept,
Kind Nature's gentlest boon!
And all the while my eyes I kept
On the descending moon. 20
My horse moved on; hoof after hoof
He raised, and never stopped:
When down behind the cottage roof,
At once, the bright moon dropped.
What fond and wayward thoughts will slide
Into a Lover's head!
"O mercy!" to myself I cried,
"If Lucy should be dead!"
It is realized in this poem that love cannot live forever and lovers will have to part one day. The transcendency of love. Love is not immortal.
The Contemporary Pedant?
Minus the Image. Could an empty NARS compact be the revival of the pedant?
To be Continued...
Classical Conditioning
Loveliness will Never Pass into Nothingness
John Keats
A thing of beauty is a joy for ever:
Its loveliness increases; it will never
Pass into nothingness; but still will keepA bower quiet for us, and a sleep
Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing.
Therefore, on every morrow, are we wreathing
A flowery band to bind us to the earth,
Spite of despondence, of the inhuman dearth
Of noble natures, of the gloomy days,
Of all the unhealthy and o'er-darkened ways
Made for our searching: yes, in spite of all,
Some shape of beauty moves away the pall
From our dark spirits. Such the sun, the moon,
Trees old, and young, sprouting a shady boon
For simple sheep; and such are daffodils
With the green world they live in; and clear rills
That for themselves a cooling covert make
'Gainst the hot season; the mid-forest brake,
Rich with a sprinkling of fair musk-rose blooms:
And such too is the grandeur of the dooms
We have imagined for the mighty dead;
All lovely tales that we have heard or read:
An endless fountain of immortal drink,
Pouring unto us from the heaven's brink.
Nor do we merely feel these essences
For one short hour; no, even as the trees
That whisper round a temple become soon
Dear as the temple's self, so does the moon,
The passion poesy, glories infinite,
Haunt us till they become a cheering light
Unto our souls, and bound to us so fast
That, whether there be shine or gloom o'ercast,
They always must be with us, or we die.
Therefore, 'tis with full happiness that I
Will trace the story of Endymion.
The very music of the name has gone
Into my being, and each pleasant scene
Is growing fresh before me as the green
Of our own valleys: so I will begin
Now while I cannot hear the city's din;
Now while the early budders are just new,
And run in mazes of the youngest hue
About old forests; while the willow trails
Its delicate amber; and the dairy pails
Bring home increase of milk. And, as the year
Grows lush in juicy stalks, I'll smoothly steer
My little boat, for many quiet hours,
With streams that deepen freshly into bowers.
Many and many a verse I hope to write,
Before the daisies, vermeil rimmed and white,
Hide in deep herbage; and ere yet the bees
Hum about globes of clover and sweet peas,
I must be near the middle of my story.
O may no wintry season, bare and hoary,
See it half finished: but let Autumn bold,
With universal tinge of sober gold,
Be all about me when I make an end!
And now at once, adventuresome, I send
My herald thought into a wilderness:
There let its trumpet blow, and quickly dress
My uncertain path with green, that I may speed
Easily onward, thorough flowers and weed.
Spite of despondence, of the inhuman dearth
Of noble natures, of the gloomy days,
Of all the unhealthy and o'er-darkened ways
Made for our searching: yes, in spite of all,
Some shape of beauty moves away the pall
From our dark spirits. Such the sun, the moon,
Trees old, and young, sprouting a shady boon
For simple sheep; and such are daffodils
With the green world they live in; and clear rills
That for themselves a cooling covert make
'Gainst the hot season; the mid-forest brake,
Rich with a sprinkling of fair musk-rose blooms:
And such too is the grandeur of the dooms
We have imagined for the mighty dead;
All lovely tales that we have heard or read:
An endless fountain of immortal drink,
Pouring unto us from the heaven's brink.
Nor do we merely feel these essences
For one short hour; no, even as the trees
That whisper round a temple become soon
Dear as the temple's self, so does the moon,
The passion poesy, glories infinite,
Haunt us till they become a cheering light
Unto our souls, and bound to us so fast
That, whether there be shine or gloom o'ercast,
They always must be with us, or we die.
Therefore, 'tis with full happiness that I
Will trace the story of Endymion.
The very music of the name has gone
Into my being, and each pleasant scene
Is growing fresh before me as the green
Of our own valleys: so I will begin
Now while I cannot hear the city's din;
Now while the early budders are just new,
And run in mazes of the youngest hue
About old forests; while the willow trails
Its delicate amber; and the dairy pails
Bring home increase of milk. And, as the year
Grows lush in juicy stalks, I'll smoothly steer
My little boat, for many quiet hours,
With streams that deepen freshly into bowers.
Many and many a verse I hope to write,
Before the daisies, vermeil rimmed and white,
Hide in deep herbage; and ere yet the bees
Hum about globes of clover and sweet peas,
I must be near the middle of my story.
O may no wintry season, bare and hoary,
See it half finished: but let Autumn bold,
With universal tinge of sober gold,
Be all about me when I make an end!
And now at once, adventuresome, I send
My herald thought into a wilderness:
There let its trumpet blow, and quickly dress
My uncertain path with green, that I may speed
Easily onward, thorough flowers and weed.
The Influence
A study of the influence Romanticism exerts upon Western culture.
'Romanticism is precisely situated neither in choice of subject nor in exact truth, but in a way of feeling.'
'Romanticism is precisely situated neither in choice of subject nor in exact truth, but in a way of feeling.'
Pedants
Left: Willem van de Velde Younger, Ships at a Stormy Sea, 1672.
Right:Turner, Dutch Boats in a Gale, 1801.
There are two types of Pedants.
-A single artist would make two pictures at the same time to hang together as a suite.
-A collector commissions an artist make a picture that would complement it's preexisting other.
To become a unity, where the sum is greater than it's parts.
Cloud Study
Friday 11 November 2011
The Chariot
A union of opposites, like the black and white steeds. They pull in different directions, but must be made to go together in one direction. Make a decision.
Wednesday 9 November 2011
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