Friday, October 12, 2012

Sunday, September 30, 2012

Ox-Bowed


Just completed my 4 week artist residency at Ox-Bow. Made a lot of work and friends. More to come!

Monday, August 27, 2012

Tuesday, March 13, 2012

LIGHT SHOW


Hi I'm in a show at Roots and Culture where I'm showing a new video.

Here's the info..

Light Show
Featuring work by Arend deGruyter-Helfer, Brook Sinkinson Withrow, Miah Michelson-Jones, Micah Schippa, Tom Harrington, and Sara Condo.
Organized by Arend deGruyter-Helfer & Brook Sinkinson Withrow.

March 2nd - March 17th / Closing reception March 17th 6-9 pm
at Roots & Culture 1034 N Milwaukee

Projection is uncontainable: as the light image is reflected and diffused, it fills the room with a warm illumination. This space isn’t bounded; it extends beyond as we reflect and scatter.

Projected material traverses a shared space with the audience, who becomes implicated in the flow of film/video/sound material. This space and moment is also animated by the affective projections of each individual audience member. We co-author the infinite and potential relations; we occupy sensuality. Light Show focuses on the utopian possibilities of projection through a network of projected sound, video, and film pieces.


Thursday, February 9, 2012

East of Eden, Chapter 13

Sometimes a kind of glory lights up the mind of a man. It happens to nearly everyone. You can feel it growing or preparing like a fuse burning toward dynamite. It is a feeling in the stomach, a delight of the nerves, of the forearms. The skin tastes the air, and every deep-drawn breath is sweet. Its beginning has the pleasure of a great stretching yawn; it flashes in the brain and whole world glows outside your eyes. A man may have lived all of his life in the gray, and the land and trees of him dark and somber. The events, even the important ones, may have trooped by faceless and pale. And then - the glory - so that a cricket song sweetens his ears, the smell of the earth rises chanting to his nose, and dappling light under a tree blesses his eyes. Then a man pours outward, a torrent of him, and yet he is not diminished. And I guess a man’s importance in the world can be measured by the quality and number of his glories. It is a lonely thing but it relates us to the world. It is the mother of all creativeness, and it sets each man separate from all other men.

I don’t know how it will be in the years to come. There are monstrous changes taking place in the world, forces shaping a future whose face we do not know. Some of these forces seem evil to us, perhaps not in themselves but because their tendency is to eliminate other things we hold good. It is true that two men can lift a bigger stone than one man. A group can build automobiles quicker and better than one man, and bread from a huge factory is cheaper and more uniform. When our food and clothing and housing all are born in the complication of mass production, mass method is bound to get into our thinking and to eliminate all other thinking. In our time mass or collective production has entered our economics, our politics, and even our religion, so that some nations have substituted the idea collective for the idea God. This in my time is the danger. There is great tension in the world, tension toward a breaking point, and men are unhappy and confused.

At such a time it seems natural and good to me to ask myself these questions. What do I believe in? What must I fight for and what must I fight against?

Our species is the only creative species, and it has only one creative instrument, the individual mind and spirit of a man. Nothing was ever created by two men. There are no good collaborations, whether in music, in art, in poetry, in mathematics, in philosophy. Once the miracle of creation has taken place, the group can build and extend it, but the group never invents anything. The preciousness lies in the lonely mind of a man.

And now the forces marshaled around the concept of the group have declared a war of extermination on the preciousness, the mind of man. By disparagement, by starvation, by repressions, forced direction, and the stunning hammerblows of conditioning, the free roving mind is being pursued, roped, blunted, drugged. It is a sad suicidal course our species seems to have taken.

And this I believe: that the free, exploring mind of the individual human is the most valuable thing in the world. And this I would fight for: the freedom of the mind to take any direction it wishes, undirected. And this I must fight against: any idea, religion, or government which limits or destroys the individual. This is what I am and what I am about. I can understand why a system built on a pattern must try to destroy the free mind, for that is one thing which can by inspection destroy such a system. Surely I can understand this, and I hate it and I will fight against it to preserve the one thing that separates us from the uncreative beasts. If the glory can be killed, we are lost.