Reading this story in the Daily Mirror, I got the distinct sense that I was looking into one of those clever optical illusion paintings of a person lo...
Technology imitating story imitating technology...
February 9, 2015
This is the place where I share my thoughts on world events, community issues, stories from the inter-webs. It's also a place to talk about some of th...
BLOG - INTERACTIVE STORYTELLING
January 14, 2015
The Story from Hear
October 11, 2017
Ode on a Giant Plexiglass Lozenge
January 14, 2015
New York artist Tom Fruin's sculpture, Watertower, made from recycled plexiglass and steel. The vibrant colours come alive as they are lit by sunlight during the day - and during the day and Arduino-controlled internal light sequences (designed by Ryan Holsopple) at night. Made me think of a giant stained glass vase - or a june bug - or a hard lozenge. Seriously, I think this is a great example of how art saves lives.Picture this.You're sitting on the bridge - getting ready to end it all - when all of a sudden the sun breaks through the clouds & lights up this sculpture like a rotund stained glass window in a great big public and non-denominational cathedral. It feels like a message. You climb down off the railing & stroll down to the corner store to buy some jolly ranchers - for which you suddenly have an inexplicable but powerful urge. Given that it's actually made from the detritus of our urban civilization: recycled plexiglass and steel collected from broken commercial signs that once brightly signified something, and construction projects that once rose optimistically toward the sky, it also made me think of the designs on the sides of John Keats' grecian urn: remnants of an older time that will live on - rendered beautiful forever - through art. So - incase you somehow missed it in grade 10 English class, here you go:
Ode on a Grecian Urn
THOU still unravish'd bride of quietness,
Thou foster-child of Silence and slow Time,
Sylvan historian, who canst thus express
A flowery tale more sweetly than our rhyme:
What leaf-fringed legend haunts about thy shape
Of deities or mortals, or of both,
In Tempe or the dales of Arcady?
What men or gods are these? What maidens loth?
What mad pursuit? What struggle to escape? What pipes and timbrels? What wild ecstasy?
Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard
Are sweeter; therefore, ye soft pipes, play on;
Not to the sensual ear, but, more endear'd,
Pipe to the spirit ditties of no tone:
Fair youth, beneath the trees, thou canst not leave