hand. eyeball. "stemware"

Let it Bleed

My goal was to set images to the Stones' music sans vocals, focusing on the genius of Keith Richards and, to a lesser degree, Mick Taylor.  What a messy effort this entailed, as apparently all these images were too much for the computer. It died, oh, only about seventy times in the making of the video.  No, I did not take these failures, even in aggregate, as a sign to cease and desist.

Four eyes

Photo of my image reflected at the base of a (middle-sister) Lindholm vase. The solid glass of the base reflected a separate image from the hollow glass at its core.

I wasn't going for creepy. Creepiness goes out of her way to seek me out.

Divided

More reflections. These taken exactly a year ago today when I took the kids to the Hunter Museum of Art in Chattanooga. There is a fabulous piece of art that's essentially nothing more than a billion and six little mirrors. I'll be posting more in a day or two (and perhaps I've already posted some already).

I and the Eyeball

Temporary name change in the blog in honor of a friend who refers to our blog in shorthand--quite winningly--as "The Eye."

So yes, Lydia has seen the blog. And a certain father-in-law, though I won't mention whose, wrote me an email the other day and noted that he, too, had seen my eyeball series. His assessment is best summarized in his own words: "Not sure what to say...."

Oh, I think that says it all.

Hey, this is interesting. Lydia has asked to type a special message for Shinigami-Sidhe. Well I don't see why not. Sure Lydia, go right ahead:

"Thanks Dad! You're the BEST!!!

Hi, this is Lydia. I want to write this note to Shinigami-Sidhe, who my fabulous and first-rate and simply lovable father has informed me was one of the most clever (former) students he had the pleasure to teach! In particular, I want to respond to your kind offer from a few days ago, when you wrote this: "Lydia, if you are reading this and have any awkward questions, I will totally answer them!"

I very much appreciate the offer, and I want to respond accordingly. Before I proceed, however, I want to assure you that this really is Lydia. Really. Believe me. This is NOT my father typing out a phony reply posing as me. That would almost be wrong (though charmingly clever), and my father is a most excellent and honorable man. What a guy!!! But back to the letter. I want to assure you that, first of all, I don't have any awkward questions. I don't even think them. Not ever. And I won't think them in the future, either, or at least not until I'm about, oh, 28 or 29 years old. I think nothing but happy innocent (precocious) child thoughts, and in particular I chiefly think thoughts about just how lucky I am to have such excellent and loving parents, who have devoted their lives in recent years to chauffeuring me around God's green earth without ceasing, completely sacrificing their own happiness for my own. (I should add: And cheerfully and without complaint! Man, they really are the BEST!!!) Secondly, I also want you to know that were I ever to stumble upon an awkward question, I will just stuff it deep down inside where it belongs, hidden in the dark recesses of the heart, buried under layers and layers of good Presbyterian guilt. If I MUST ask an awkward question, however, I will consult my parents or, if they are not available, maybe--just maybe--a very happy and contented nun. I will not consult my friends or peers. Ever. Actually, I will consult my MOTHER because though I know my father to be wise beyond measure, I would not want to embarrass him with awkward questions. That would be unfortunate. But thank you, S-S, for volunteering me your ear. How very kind of you.

Yours,

Lydia and NOT my father"

So how 'bout that?! Lydia has spoken.

What's that, Lydia? You want to write Mr. Andy a note, too? A note about how you stand by your assessment of my writing as "profound"? Well, why don't we wait for another time, ok? He's a little....busy.

Eyeball State of Mind

Eye(ball) in the Mirror

Where is My Eyeball?

Somewhere Over the Eyeball

Photos of the double-rainbow taken the same day I took the photos of the (glorious) eyeball.

Eye in the Sky

"I become a transparent eyeball; I am nothing; I see all."

--Ralph Waldo Emerson

Not a perfect fit, but I've been wanting to post that quote for years. I finally broke down and did it.

All the eyeball photos in this glorious eyeball-rific series are from photos I originally took of an eyeball sculpture we saw in a sculpture park in St. Louis. [Yes, even the "Pop Goes the Eyeball" eyeball, which (obviously) I cropped and reduced in size.] We were driving from Rome to KC to visit my parents, and though the drive is nearly 800 miles, and we completed the trip in a single day, I insisted on stopping at the park specifically to visit the giant eyeball. One must pay hommage where hommage is due, no?

We spent a good hour or two there walking about and taking in the weird sculptures.

Oh, glory.

Pop Goes the Eyeball

Like a Rolling Eyeball

So beautiful. So so beautiful. So Beautiful.

Magic eyeball, thank you.

With a Little Help From My Eyeball

Dark Side of the Eyeball

Smells Like Eyeball Spirit

Welcome to the Eyeball

Self-portraits in front of the giant eyeball.

Prepare for more eyeball photos, friends. And....Happy New Year to you!!!

2010 in Review, pt. 6

I need Oswald Bates' help here. Evocationism through abstractionism?

Affirminaction!

little eyeballs in the art

At the pool

Elements redux

This version is a much better marriage of music and imagery. If nothing else, it captures the, um, hallucinatory, vibe I was aiming for. Old Ludwig let me down there, I fear. I added on a surprise ending that I hope makes you smile.

Note: I changed the name of the blog back. Another victorious moment of oppression for Whitey--for all of you whities. My tiny white readership was grumbling, and though my very sizable non-white readership was remaining loyal to me (because they see my heart, my inner color, not my skin pigmentation), once again The Man gets what he wants. Frankly, I'm tired in my bones of The Man.

Makes me sing That Lucky Old Sun.

Good Lord, up above/
can't you hear me crying?
Tears all in my eyes?
Send down that cloud with your silvery lining.
Lift me to paradise!
Oh show me that river, take me across.
Wash all my troubles away.
Like that lucky old sun, give me nothing to do/
but roll around Heaven all day.

Shoot.