David Ellingsen is a professional photographer from British Columbia. His work is smart and polished. His series “Obsolete Delete” showcases technology that has disappeared from use, some only in the last decade. He puts these pieces in natural settings. To see more of his work or to purchase prints go to his website: http://www.davidellingsen.com/ or visit this site.
I used to
Twirl the twisty
Round my finger
Chained to the phone
Walk and the long
Wrap round me
Like a boa
Then I would spin
Laughing while I
I miss the chord
I miss having to
Stay in one place
For a conversation
Now I talk
In the wind
Lyonel Feininger was a deeply complex and very accomplished artist who worked in different modalities, including music, photography, and painting. I love his work with cubism specifically, but all his artwork is wonderful. He worked through very difficult times, including world war I and having to flee Germany after the Nazis took power. You can see more of his paintings here. I also have one more blog post with his work at http://wp.me/p2IaNZ-3x.
The Dome in Halle
Market Church in Halle
Partita No. 2 In D Minor, BWV 1004: V. Ciaccona (Chaconne) – Itzhak Perlman
Sometimes art can illuminate an artists life and a larger world issue without being preachy or editorial. With simplicity and grace, the art of Hani Zurob illustrates some of the issues that roil the Middle East without being political or angry. He uses his art to tell the story of his life, and in doing so helps others to understand some of the turmoil that families living through the ongoing struggle between Israel and Palestine face. Here is his statement he wrote that was posted on oneart.org*:
“The idea of this project occurred when my son Qoudsi started to learn to speak. When I used to accompany him and his mother to Charles De Gaulle airport in 2009, he surprised me with the question, “Daddy why don’t you come with us to Jerusalem?” Holding an identity card from Gaza, it would be hard for him to grasp my incapability of never being able to travel with them.
Qoudsi, like all other children in his age, is selective when it comes to which toys he wants to play with. He subconsciously uses them to express his thoughts and concerns. I notice that he increasingly chooses to play with transportation toys, in his belief that there has to be a kind of transportation that can get us together to his grandfather’s house in Jerusalem. Once, he suggested that we should take his small car, and in another time, he wanted to put me in his travelling suitcase, and once he wanted me to ride with him his bicycle after he learned how to ride it. Yet, he always chooses the plane, which is also his preferred seat on carousels when he sees one. His search is restless, and every time he travels to Jerusalem, I feel he matures and his thoughts become more developed. He still comes to me with new toys and solutions, and his selection changes with his growing thoughts and with his increasing physical abilities to use his toys.
Through the use of oil and acrylic paint and other mediums, I try to create a world which is composed of three worlds: exile where the artist lives (the father), and who appears in the paintings as the sole living human being by the depiction of the son who is portrayed in a relatively small scale in contrast to his surroundings. The second world concerns Qoudsi himself, as he visually appears and in his manner of showing his feelings through the use of his toys and his interactions with them. The third world is one of space, where we come from, which is depicted through walls, and multilayered backgrounds, as symbolic traces of the complex life that does not enable Qoudsi and me to meet. Yet, it is in my construction of a virtual world where a space for such a meeting occurs.
After each trip to Jerusalem and the collection of a new toy to his already filled cupboard, and with each painting where we try to find our ground, Qoudsi still anticipates our trip together, and so do I. Until he realizes the reality that was forced upon us, we will keep playing the waiting game and learning flying lessons.” Hani Zurob
Mine are the night and morning,
The pits of air, the gulf of space,
The sportive sun, the gibbous moon,
The innumerable days.
I hid in the solar glory,
I am dumb in the pealing song,
I rest on the pitch of the torrent,
In slumber I am strong.
No numbers have counted my tallies,
No tribes my house can fill,
I sit by the shining Fount of Life,
And pour the deluge still;
And ever by delicate powers
Gathering along the centuries
From race on race the rarest flowers,
My wreath shall nothing miss.
And many a thousand summers
My apples ripened well,
And light from meliorating stars
With firmer glory fell.
I wrote the past in characters
Of rock and fire the scroll,
The building in the coral sea,
The planting of the coal.
And thefts from satellites and rings
And broken stars I drew,
And out of spent and aged things
I formed the world anew;
What time the gods kept carnival,
Tricked out in star and flower,
And in cramp elf and saurian forms
They swathed their too much power.
Time and Thought were my surveyors,
They laid their courses well,
They boiled the sea, and baked the layers
Or granite, marl, and shell.
But he, the man-child glorious,--
Where tarries he the while?
The rainbow shines his harbinger,
The sunset gleams his smile.
My boreal lights leap upward,
Forthright my planets roll,
And still the man-child is not born,
The summit of the whole.
Must time and tide forever run?
Will never my winds go sleep in the west?
Will never my wheels which whirl the sun
And satellites have rest?
Too much of donning and doffing,
Too slow the rainbow fades,
I weary of my robe of snow,
My leaves and my cascades;
I tire of globes and races,
Too long the game is played;
What without him is summer's pomp,
Or winter's frozen shade?
I travail in pain for him,
My creatures travail and wait;
His couriers come by squadrons,
He comes not to the gate.
Twice I have moulded an image,
And thrice outstretched my hand,
Made one of day, and one of night,
And one of the salt sea-sand.
One in a Judaean manger,
And one by Avon stream,
One over against the mouths of Nile,
And one in the Academe.
I moulded kings and saviours,
And bards o'er kings to rule;--
But fell the starry influence short,
The cup was never full.
Yet whirl the glowing wheels once more,
And mix the bowl again;
Seethe, fate! the ancient elements,
Heat, cold, wet, dry, and peace, and pain.
Let war and trade and creeds and song
Blend, ripen race on race,
The sunburnt world a man shall breed
Of all the zones, and countless days.
No ray is dimmed, no atom worn,
My oldest force is good as new,
And the fresh rose on yonder thorn
Gives back the bending heavens in dew.
Nicolas Evarist is a photographer who works from Granville, in Normandy (France). He works mainly in black and white photography and he prefers to shoot nature. His works in his “Dark Zoo” series are breathtaking in their minimalist and stark feeling. They capture the essence of the animal, without seeming to miss anything by not using color. To see more of his work go HERE or to his website HERE. His other works are equally breath taking.