On this yearlong eve of the Mayan
apocalypse, as we bury our faces in digital displays, what is the
relevance of the old-fashioned objet d’art? Can it engage the mind and uplift the spirit? Kris
Launch Pad Gallery, which opened in
December 2005 and closes with its current show, has always staked out
unique terrain within Portland’s visual-arts ecosphere. Its physical
location is in So
First came hieroglyphs, then epic poems,
stage plays and operas. Then there were books, newspapers, movies,
radios and televisions. Now, smartphones, iPads and Kindles. The methods
by which we r
Legendary 90-year-old Portland artist selling everything in his studio next week.
At the age of 90, beloved Portland artist Tom Hardy has decided to shutter his studio and take life a little more slowly. Problem is, nine decades of life tends to leave one’s studio chock full of accumulated stuff.
What to do with it?
Hardy is holding a sale, the goal of which is to liquidate everything in one fell swoop...
There’s a place I know, if you’re looking for a show.
In a state where hot-springs skinny
dipping and strip-club flesh ogling are de rigueur, can an art
exhibition about naked bodies pique, tweak or shock anyone? Not really,
as it turns out. But Fr
“Live in fragments no longer,” E.M. Forster urged in Howards End. “Only connect.”
Today, 102 years
after the novel was published, we increasingly connect by tweeting,
streaming and texti
If the Playboy Mansion were plopped down
into the forests of Middle-earth and redecorated by Donald Trump, it
would probably wind up looking and feeling like Tom Cramer’s woodsy,
Oh, how we love to tart up death! Out with the blood, in
with the embalming fluid, pancake the face, rouge the cheeks, and
suddenly Grandma looks 10 years younger than when she died! The
Ryan Wilson Paulsen and Anna Gray’s artistic monogamy at Disjecta’s Biennial.
It’s an image that could keep you up at night: a young
man, his wife, and their child lay atop the bolted entrance to a family
crypt. The parents’ eyes are closed as the child rests limply on
Picasso drew and painted plenty of sphincters in his
perverse erotic fantasias, but the necessary but generally unglamorous
muscle doesn’t get a lot of face time in fine art—not even in nudes.