A photo poem with images from "Fog in Paris, last day ever" by Stephen Mosblech, text by Ya'qub Ibn Yusef.
I'm throwing my digital hat into the internet ring, blogging like it's 2006. Catch the fever!
This is the place where I'll put the collection of tinkerings, musings, synaptic breakdowns and cat photos that have been bouncing in my brain for too long. I'll be sharing thoughts on performance, juggling, politics and music, as well as showcasing the far superior work of my friends and colleagues.
Drink deeply of this crazy, for it is sweet.
For my first post I wanted to show some photos taken by the amazing Kate Nicholson at the Storm King Art Center, a veritable juggler's paradise (my endorsement, not theirs).
A seizure inducing gif to start us off on the right foot.
Now some photos of my illegitimate interaction with this beautiful sculpture that was just begging to be walked on. A crowd had gathered to watch my antics, the woman who climbed it after me was severely chastised by a fat man in a golf cart about the nature of art and her lack of respect for it.
I am fascinated by how these geometric forms contrast and highlight the natural space and the body within it. In some ways our relationship to the world is constantly unfolding via overlapping "frame sets", perception is the double act of inclusion and exclusion, without an edge there is no center.
There is a special harmony between the natural jaggedness of the body and world with the geometric abstraction of the sculpture and ball. Perhaps the greater question is not what we do, but within what frame.