Poetry Collaboration and Craft
Thursday, May 16, 2019 at 7:00 pm
Ned Balbo and Jane Satterfield, Husband and wife award winning poets will speak about their creative process and read from their poetry. Sponsored by Crossroads Cultural Center. The event is free and open to the public, music and light refreshments will follow.
Curated by Father Paul Anel
April 12 - May 5
“Let us see once more, Veronica
The face of the Holy Wayfarer
In the linen you have gathered it into.”
Paul Claudel, Stations of the Cross
The Green Door Gallery is thrilled to invite you to ‘XIV Stations’, a group show featuring 14 artists coming to terms with a subject that is arguably the most iconic, inspiring and provocative subject in art history: the Stations of the Cross.
In a piece published last year in the Brooklyn Rail, Ann Mc Coy, a teacher at the Yale School of Drama, wrote that “exhibitions dedicated to Christianity in any positive way are still the ultimate taboo.” Here is an interesting paradox: while it is true that the public display of such artworks by contemporary artists may be taboo, the Passion narratives continue to be a major inspiration for contemporary artists. The artworks featured in ‘XIV Stations’ — many of which have never left their creators’ respective studios — are there to testify it.
Why is it that our post-modern, secular culture did not succeed in uprooting this most religious subject from the artists’ imagination?
First, because of the unique place that it occupies in art history. The Passion has inspired some of the greatest works of art ever produced by mankind, from Michelangelo and Grünewald, to Rembrandt, Matisse and even Rothko. Regardless of their religious affiliation, contemporary artists cannot overlook the fact that it constitutes one of the richest and most elevated artistic tradition in which to root their own practice.
There is, however, a deeper reason why it keeps inspiring artists today as it has for the past two millenia. The event of the crucifixion both synthetizes and polarizes, with unparalleled intensity, the contradictions of reality — contradictions which every work of art wrestles with. The crucifixion exposes moral ugliness — evil, the suffering of the innocent — and, at the same time, the utmost expressions of beauty — love, compassion, freedom. It is wholly incarnate, earthly, and yet wholly spiritual and divine. Finally, the figure of the crucified Christ elicits both figurative art and abstraction, inasmuch as he embodies humanity at its most humane, but also, contemporaneously, at its most disfigured: “His appearance was so marred [that it was] beyond human semblance.” (Isaiah 52, 14)
In ‘XIV Stations’, 14 artists offer us 14 distinct, contemporary and compelling perspectives on this ancient, universal, and never-exhausted drama.
The Stations of the Cross
The Stations of the Cross are 14 stops on Jesus’ last day, from his condemnation by Pontius Pilate to the deposition of his dead body in the tomb. They include such iconic moments — not related in the gospels — as the three falls of Jesus and his encounter with the elusive woman known as “Veronica” (literally, “the true icon”), who stepped out of the crowd to wipe Jesus’ bleeding face with her veil.
Painted or sculpted, the Stations became an integral part of church architecture during the Renaissance, but their roots stretch much further in history. We learn from 18th century German mystic Anne-Catherine Emmerich that this tradition goes all the way back to Mary, the mother of Jesus, who would regularly walk the original “via dolorosa” in Jerusalem (until she left for Ephesus with the apostle John at the beginning of the persecutions in 36/37), pausing in silence whenever her memory lingered on a particular event that occurred along the way.
Chris Alles, Masaru Bando, Alfonse Borysewicz, Michael David, Martin Dull, Bruce Gagnier, Bill Jensen, Elisa Jensen, Pavel Kraus, Margaret Krug, Margrit Lewczuk, Tine Lundsfryd, Joerg Madlener, Laurence Swan
The Green Door Gallery is a not-for-profit gallery space located in the Williamsburg neighborhood of Brooklyn, NY.
An initiative of Divine Mercy Parish, The Green Door Gallery was created to connect artists and the local community by celebrating art work that is uplifting and spiritual and fostering a culture of friendship.
As part of Divine Mercy Parish The Green Door Gallery builds on the long, proud tradition of Catholic support for the arts (think Michelangelo, Raphael, Titian, Van Eyck and Giotto), while at the same time embracing contemporary art and all the creative expressions inherent in the human heart in its search for beauty and truth.
Corner of Skillman Avenue and Humboldt Street in Williamsburg, Brooklyn (next door to 206 Skillman Avenue)
Hours of operation for this show
Fridays: 5-7pm / Saturday and Sunday: 3-6pm
Advent: Mindful Waiting
curated by Elisa Jensen
December 1, 2018 - January 6, 2019
Advent: Mindful Waiting: A Group Show at The Green Door Gallery Curated by Elisa Jensen
Estragon: Let’s go.
Vladimir: We can’t.
Estragon: Why not?
Vladimir: We’re waiting for Godot.
Estragon: Ah! (Vladimir walks up and down). Can you not stay still?
Samuel Beckett, Waiting for Godot
Starting on December 1, 2018 Williamsburg's Green Door Gallery will be transformed into an Advent Calendar, with one new piece of art being installed each day culminating on December 23rd, when the last pieces will be installed.
The show will comprise a series of daily one hour openings, held from 5:00 PM to 6:00 PM celebrating the addition of that day's painting, sculpture, installation (or who knows what - the idea is to surprise). There will be a celebration of the entire exhibition with artists present on Sunday, January 6 from 3-5 pm.
"The concept for the Advent Calendar show, which includes artists of all beliefs, is to celebrate the idea of mindful waiting in art and life," commented curator Elisa Jensen. "Like the Advent period, much of creative life is waiting – waiting to master your craft, waiting to be noticed as an artist, waiting for an opening night, waiting to sell your work, and so on. And while it's easy to think in terms of racing from milestone to milestone, it's equally important to consider the meaning of the wait itself. How we wait, and what we do while we are waiting, are the things that actually define our lives. The works included in this show, then, are dedicated to that waiting, and to celebrating how aware, beautiful, inspiring, painful, lonely and meaningful that pilgrimage through time can be."
Lauren Bakoian, Janet Biggs, Rick Briggs, Michael David, Carol Diamond, Marianne Gagnier, William Eckhardt Kohler, Margrit Lewczuk, Liv Mette Larsen, Tine Lundsfryd, Kaitlin McDonough, Shari Mendelson, Jeffrey Morabito, Ilse Murdock, Patrick Neal, Benjamin Pritchard, Jason Rohlf, Torild Stray, Ryan Blair Sullivan, Alison Elizabeth Taylor, Richard Timperio, Joanne Ungar, Michael Volonakis, Andrew Wilhelm, Etty Yaniv
Advent and Advent Calendars
The structure of the show was inspired by Advent, which takes its name from the Latin word for coming, and refers to the period from December 1s t to December 25t h, and Advent Calendars, which are usually constructed of cardboard and feature 24 little doors – one for each day -- concealing images, small chocolates or other treats. Children are meant to open the doors, one by one, as they wait for the holiday to arrive.
The Green Door Gallery is a not-for-profit exhibition space, founded by the Divine Mercy Parish in 2017 to reach out to artists in the neighborhood and foster a sense of community. This will be the gallery’s fourth exhibition. Location: Corner of Skillman and Humboldt Streets in Williamsburg, Brooklyn Contact: Curator Elisa Jensen, email@example.com or 917-592-6348 for more information Instagram: green.door.gallery Hours of operation: Extended through Feb. 8, open by appointment
Art & Friendship
curated by Father Paul Anel
Beasts of Brooklyn
curated by Elisa Jensen
June 1 - June 24, 2018
THE BEASTS OF BROOKLYN
For every beast of the forest is mine, and the cattle upon a thousand hills.
Walt Whitman, that great bard of Brooklyn, famously spilled barrels of ink across forests of paper in order to express a giddy, almost drunken, and certainly beatific, love for human kind. But for all his enthusiasm for upright, two-legged animals, there was another category of carbon-based life form he admired even more. Witness this excerpt from his poem, Beasts:
I think I could turn and live with the animals,
they are so placid and self-contain’d
I stand and look at them long and long.
They do no sweat and whine about the condition,
They do not lie awake in the dark and weep for their sins…
Here, then, is a Brooklyn show that Walt Whitman might admire, as it includes a dizzying array of some of the wildest beasties ever to call this borough of churches home, with not a single example of whining or weeping (though there is some roaring, croaking and whinnying).
Mike Ballou’s deer sits patiently, water magically dribbling from the back of its open head, and collecting in the tranquil pool of its back.
Seth Becker brings us close in to the beast experience, and his menagerie includes a bird perched quietly in the hand, a wasp entering its abode, and a dog the top of the stair.
Matt Blackwell’s bears delight and frighten by turns: one sings for her supper, another informs viewers that they are on the menu, while an ursine mask reminds us how little it takes for us to become the beast.
Arthur Cohen’s bull is visceral and in constant motion as it rolls and rollicks wildly on his back, legs kicking violently.
Paul D’Agostino beautifully choreographs an intricate dance between a spider and a bird.
Thibaut Dapoigny shares an intricate and intimate view of a rhinoceros’ eye.
Mary DeVincentis’ mythic and ferocious whale seems to be thinking of Jonah, her mouth, replete with terrifyingly sharp teeth, opened wide to receive some honored guest.
Lois Dickon’s dense and painterly butterflies flutter elegantly in front of fields of color.
Rodney Dickson’s strange mythical beast emerges as a solid being from an alchemical mix of weather, light and mood.
Glenn Goldberg’s Peace Dog is most present in her eyes, which pop out from the canvas pleading the cause.
Kurt Hoffman’s Wisconsin badger rests on a bed of ice and snow, grimacing away under the Midwestern farmland sky, while his horned lizard poses un the lone star sun with a calm that could pass for wisdom.
Elisa Jensen’s mythical raven brings on the night with each flap of its wings.
Wendy Klemperer’s wolf howls with abandon and bristles threateningly.
Lucy Lamphere’s Hopper-like chicken serenely contemplates the barnyard landscape.
Ro Lohin’s drawing is an endlessly snapping camera shutter, her spare, elegant lines capturing the frame by frame movement of a donkey as it crosses a Mexican field.
Deborah Masters cows peer out quizzically out at the viewer from the frame.
Jenny Lynn McNutt’s first rabbit looks wryly down on Brooklyn from the moon, while second naps thickly in the summer afternoon.
Laura Murray’s wry sculpture finds bunnies in their natural habitat (the cardboard box) contemplating that classic staple of lapin cuisine, the baby carrot.
Joyce Pensato’s Cookie Monster is a blue, wiggling beast that hails from deep in the forest of childhood.
Martin Seck’s turkey floats roasted and ready on a field of gray, a sprig of rosemary laid seductively across its breast.
Jackie Shatz brings a dancing, prancing fox, and a horse emerging from some liminal space on the far side of the wall.
Kim Sloane’s bird of many colors soars like stained glass that has been magically liberated from its church window.
Susan Sussman’s pastel cows and horses emerge only partially from the landscape into which they are woven.
Lawrence Swan’s masks subvert our expectation of animal types: one is cute rat, the other a frightening ape.
Fred Tomaselli brings trophies from his safari into the deep forest of the Brooklyn backyard: mosquito carcasses, laid out and photographed for posterity.
Carrie Waldman’s Dragonfly bolts bottleneck blue into the green grass of summer, while her Salamander slithers stylishly, across a panel.
Sally Webster shares a feral dog, his head held by a brave human hand, a conical hive dripping honey on the bee-loud glade, and a brace of horses sheltering in the shade of some flowers.
Megan Williamson’s elegantly rendered black and white beasts are caught in the act as they prowl, or evince altogether human-like surprise.
Joyce Yamada’s sea creatures prowl the shifting, flickering lights of the mythic deep.
Before closing, another poetic note on the relationship between us and them: Seattle, the Chief of the Dwamish, people and the allied tribes of the Puget Sound, once asked:
"What is man without the beasts? If all the beasts were gone, men would die from great loneliness of spirit, for whatever happens to the beasts happens to the man.”
The artists in the show clearly see that truth, and here they celebrate our shared destiny.
Return to Light
curated by Elisa Jensen
February 2 - 11, 2018
Return to Light
Green Door Gallery
Divine Mercy Cultural Center
Corner of Skillman and Humboldt Street
February 2-11, 2018 Opening: Friday, Feb. 2, 6-8 pm Gathering with artists: Sunday, Feb. 4, 2-5 Gallery Hours: Saturday & Sunday, 2-6 OrganizedbyElisaJensen,contacte firstname.lastname@example.org
This is the inaugural exhibition of the Green Door Gallery, which is located at the corner of Skillman and Humboldt Streets in Williamsburg, Brooklyn, not far from the Graham Avenue stop of the L Train.
The Green Door was created to foster a sense of community in the neighborhood by Father Thomas Vassalotti, who, along with Father Paul Anel of Heart’s Home, reached out to me with the wish to connect to the many artists in the neighborhood.
In response I have organized a show that celebrates a group of extraordinarily talented painters, sculptors and installation artists, and focuses on the moment of the year at which the days begin to grow longer, which is reflected in the title of the exhibition: the Return to Light.
Many of the artists featured in Return To Light work or live within a stones throw of the gallery, and all of them use light in their work: some depict light in nature, some make installations interacting with light, or playing with the viewers perception of light, some refer to light either symbolically or metaphorically.
The artist’s featured include: Sarah Bedford, Lenka Curtin, Paul D’Agostino, John Descarfino, Rico Gatson, Sophie Grant, Elisa Jensen, Kerry Law, Susan Luss, Natalie Moore, Ron Milewicz, Ellie Murphy, Linda Nagaoka, Kelly Parr, Mary Temple, Carrie Waldman, Sally Webster.
We have chosen February 2nd to open an exhibition because it is a day on which people celebrate light in all its forms:
● The day marks the beginning of Spring.
● iIn Ireland it is the feast day St. Brigit, who is said to have had an ever-burning fire at
her monastery in Kildare, and whose name means Fiery Arrow.
● It is the Feast of the Presentation in the Catholic Church, when the baby Jesus was praised as “the light of nations” by the prophet Simeon when he was presented on
this day in the Temple of Jerusalem.
● And so it is Candelmas, the blessing of candles and a day of candelight processions.
● In France it is the Jour des Crêpes or Fêtes de la Lumière.
● Half way between Winter Solstice and Spring Equinox, Celts dubbed February 2nd
Imbolc, and it was one of the four ancient Celtic fire festival days.
● It marks the beginning of the light half of the year, and the Neolithic tomb (from 3,500 BC), the Mound of the Hostages on the Ireland’s Hill of Tara is oriented to face the sunrise on Imbolc so that light enters the tomb and illuminates the rock art inside. Imbolc means “in the belly” in the old Irish Neolithic language. The name refers to fertility, the germination of seeds, the lactation of cows and the lambing season.
● In Scandinavia it was called Disting, or D ísablót. This holiday dates back to prehistoric times. Disting means assembly of the goddess or female ancestors called Dísir.According to the Eddas, there were sacrifices involved. In Anglo-Saxon times it was the Charming of the Plow, the time when the first furrows were ploughed in the field, and a feast of new beginnings was held at which the work of the year to come is blessed. The cattle was counted and thus wealth was tallied. It is still the day that farmers are half-way through the winter food for their animals. Celebrations in Iceland and Sweden continue today with festivals of light, nd a practice of eating the innards of animals and drinking specially herbed snaps to get vitamins for the rest of the winter.
● This is a report from my Danish uncle, who on this day with groups of artists in the North Atlantic House in Hanstholm, Denmark held celebrations called North Atlantic Nights. The traditional Icelandic ritual lasted for 72 hours with lot of eating and drinking in order to get the inspiration for telling stories in a special way called ‘rimur’ in which one person starts a story and the next continues and so on throughout the night. In Iceland it’s dark the most of the day, the storytelling and drinking continues and you sleep when you can’t’ stay awake. So, Steen says, “a lot of spirit and vitamins, music, storytelling and dancing, no sleep for 3 days and you will be ready for surviving the rest of the winter. That at least was the Icelandic way”..... And he continues, “We have many forgotten things to learn.”
● It is the birthday of that great light of Irish literature, James Joyce, and the day on which his greatest work, Ulysses, was published.
● In America, it is Groundhog Day, and people watch to see if Punxsatawney Phil will see his shadow, and thereby predict if spring will come.
● The Dia de Yemanjá is celebrated in Bahia, Brazil, and celebrates the “Rainha do Mar (Queen of the Sea)” a Yoruba deity. In Bahia, the biggest party for Yemanjá occurs on February 2, when thousands of people dress in white and go to the beach of Rio Vermelho singing, dancing, and depositing offerings such as baskets of flowers, mirrors, jewelry, food, perfumes, and other objects to receive blessings and prosperity for the year ahead. Offerings which do not return to shore are deemed accepted. Yemanjá is connected to the Christian Mary, Nossa Senhora dos Navegantes (Our Lady of Seafarers), whose Catholic feast day is on February 2.
● And here in Williamsburg it is the inauguration of the Green Door, and a chance to see work that celebrates the light of the sun, light of the eye, the light of consciousness, and the light of the spirit.
Return to Light
The artists on light and about their work:
In addition to making art, I also do a great deal of work as a writer and translator of several languages. As such, texts, narratives and translations real and metaphorical often factor into my works and processes. All of these aspects of my art are present in my Chromatic Alphabetpaintings. For these works, I developed an extensive alphabet based on colors and simple shapes so that I could make paintings featuring letters, words or expressions without necessarily appearing to feature anything of the sort. Luce, one of my paintings in this show, is titled thusly because it says or 'says' the word 'luce,' the Italian word for 'light.' My other work in this show, A nima + Animus, says or 'says' the words 'anima' and 'animus,' two Latin words that convey subtly different meanings of the word 'soul.' The cruciform layout of those 'souls' came about through such profound channels of happenstance and mystery that I like to imagine Saint Jerome looking upon it with wholehearted approval. Perhaps he'd then take a cue from my name and tell Saint Paul and Saint Augustine to have a look as well — to see if they see and read what he reads and sees. I'm pretty sure they'd all then just tell me to shut up already. Word.
Sarah Bedford’s recent collages explore the visionary, metaphoric potential of floral still life. Alternately schematic and mystical, organic and hard-edged, her abstracted depictions of flowers, roots, chalices, arrows and crystals, among other forms, pulse with a life force both otherworldly and generative. The chalice that appears in many of the works symbolizes not only consecration, but in the artist’s words, a desire to “hold, rather than contain” the material world. That material world, as seen in Goldenrod, is elevated and transcended through Bedford’s sensual alchemy of decay.
Lenka Curtin states: T hese pieces metaphorically reflect the potential of the inner light. They are not lit from the inside but the color and process evoke alertness , while being firmly rooted. The conversation of carved lower part and visually uplifting glass bead part of the sculpture stimulates the relationship between the physical and spiritual existing and complimenting each together, in one unifying sculpture.
John Descarfino states: “Color and light in my painting not only shapes the space but is central to the emotive content.” The departure point of his work is the window. Windows open up to a space beyond themselves to allow the passage of light and air, they also reflect the world in front of them. Descarfino’s windows are conceptual locations representing these transitional spaces as thresholds or in between worlds of transformation that relate metaphorically to the half-way point between Winter Solstice and Spring Equinox. He sees this transitional space as “a condition where fluid, amorphous and protean qualities engage our perceptual faculties with a nascent image. Through shape, color, light and image structure, I delve into this threshold location and the emotive atmosphere it holds.”
Rico Gatson’s work Untitled (Starburst) shows rays of color radiating from a single point on the middle left edge of the painting in a dark field. The darkness isn’t a flat plane but glistens with a rich glittery subtlety. The painting is a powerful clarion call to light, warmth, color and
life. Untitled (Starburst) is part of a small series of paintings that reference cosmic events, tragic African American entertainers and African countries, the common link in the series is bright color contrasting a stark black background.
Sophie Grant u ses color to stand in for the warmth or vitality associated with light. Dense yellows in her recent works are used to create images of blooms and sunflowers. Sunflowers, which Sophie plants in her Brooklyn garden, are significant symbolically in more ways than one, not only do they face and follow the sun, they are also famous for absorbing toxins from the earth. Her painting surface is neoprene, a cold fluid-like material that absorbs the paint like a sponge. She attaches hand-built glazed ceramics, and glass beads, creating glistening surfaces which give the work a sense of visual indeterminacy. The titles of the two works included are names that people gave to Rachel Carson, the scientist who wrote the groundbreaking 1962 environmental science book, Silent Spring.
Elisa Jensen states: The w orks in this show are from a series of paintings called “The Fair Wheel,” which is a kenning (a compound expression with metaphorical meaning) for the sun which comes from the Scandinavian Poetic Eddas. The sun in ancient times was deified. I paint found sun symbols culled from ancient Neolithic rock art, Bronze age art, Celtic art and Medieval manuscripts. The act of painting these images is a meditative endeavor, it allows me to more fully understand their meaning, their complexity and although they come from differing cultures over centuries, their interconnectedness.
For a few years I painted the Empire State Building about twice weekly at night trying to capture the changing light of the building, night sky and weather. After some time I started a series to try to capture the light that bounces off the building at day break. The Empire State Building is subject that has both personal significance to me and carries many meanings to New Yorkers and indeed people around the world. I love that I could paint the building over and over and every time the light will be different. Night or day. At night the light could be a steady beacon in the darkness and at dawn the first indication of the promise of a new day.
Imagine the experience of walking over a bridge towards the setting sun. In the blink of an eye, the sun slips below the horizon. What’s left is a lingering desire to follow it to the very edge, disappearing, fading as does the light. But inevitably the earth turns and that light returns and that desire to follow it to the edge is every bit as present as the day before. But somehow it feels new. I aim for that experience when making my work. A desire to be present, to have the experience, a moment of new discovery that can happen over and over and over.
The work in this exhibition, Valley Garden, is part of a larger body of work investigating a dark period of my life. I made this piece on the floor and when I finally finished working in it, the only place to lift it up was in front of a window in my studio. As I stepped back to see the work, it was like walking over that bridge into the setting sun. But instead of the light disappearing below horizon, the light illuminated a sort of archeological site. The hidden was revealed in a moment of new discovery. I returned to light, made clearer by the darkness.
Ron Milewicz makes drawings in the woods in upstate New York. He approaches nature simply and directly, with only pencil and paper. The drawings are intimate and his touch is subtle and light. In his employ, silvery graphite fuses into the cotton paper in precisely nuanced shifts of tone, giving an otherworldly, still and ethereal quality to the image. He creates flickering patterns of light and shadow that move throughout the space rhythmically transfixing the eye of the viewer. These works enchant: they seem to silently sing the song of nature’s elemental and mystical power.
Natalie Moore’s w oven wire sculpture Glow, hints to a potential flame. Refuting stasis, a fire’s movement a is continuous dance, a meditation on change. We are drawn to the glow, yearning for warmth and energy, in awe of its power and just a little afraid.
Ellie Murphy states: I love how the word l ight both describe the quality of illumination and also the degree of mood—its inverse being both HEAVINESS and DARKNESS. I love that the single entity LIGHT is in opposition and relation to both those forces. I’m guided between the poles of my emotions and rationality. My encaustic drawings are completely analog, each stroke records a unique moment in time in sequence. They describe a progression from the beginning moment to the ending moment and in this way they mirror the return of the sun, day by day, little by little. The melted wax is encaustic and I often throw in the wax of spent candles from my home.
Linda Nagoaka works are made slowly, they aggregate in a way that mirrors the growth of the natural forms that inspire her. The act of making itself is a performance, a gradual building whether it is with the pen in her carefully constructed drawings, or with her hands that roll, pinch, squish and form with clay.
Alongside this peaceful and gradual growth, there is an element of danger, of growth out of control, which comes into clear focus when she sites the influence of the writer John Hersey, who writes in “Hiroshima” --"Weeds already hid the ashes, and wild flowers were in bloom among the city's bones. The bomb had not only left the underground organs of the plants intact; it had stimulated them. Everywhere were bluets, and Spanish bayonets, goosefoot, morning glories and daylilies, the hairfruited bean, purslane and clotblur and sesame and panic grass and feverfew."
Kelly Parr states: Page 52 (Your Aura) is one of a series of related photo collage works, all using photographs of pages from books about anonymous counter-culture architecture of the 60s and 70s. P age 52 (Your Aura) incorporates an image of a God’s Eye (nails and yarn on wood panel; inner light) underneath a silver manifestation of your aura (the light of your energy).
“In the word was life, and that life was the light of all mankind. The light shines in the
darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.” John 1:4-5
Mary Temple’s “Light Installations” are about belief and doubt. Not necessarily spiritual doubt, but not excluding it. In this piece, the idea of a shape of light moving through a space and describing (making known) the otherwise dark volume, speaks to finding one’s way—finding truth. These pieces are meant to give the viewer time to enjoy not-knowing, and to privilege questions over answers. By puzzling the physical senses (setting up the viewer to fail at identifying something as elemental as light), these works celebrate the pleasure of trying to understand those things just outside the grasp of physical intelligence.
Carrie Waldman s tates: I like to clomp around in the woods. It’s harder than it used to be to find a patch of forest to wander freely in with my dog. I find solace in the light peeping through the trees in the woods, the same woods on many days, various seasons, disparate weather, the crystal light, the furious crows, the golden beech leaves hanging on in the understory, lit by slanting winter light, the dead baby deer in the melting snow, and finally, the return of the light to the forest, the trees waking up, the sticks thrown in the river, the afternoon light shining through. then the wild proliferation of boletes, then the cracked dry earth, the bend in the trail, the world opening up suddenly.
Sally Webster’s intimate paintings somehow seem to contain universes and we can’t help empathizing with the forms shown as though they are diagramming our innermost fears and desires.. One image shows an explosion of light, like a universe in the process of forming, another, a quiet rainbow glow nestled and protected by a bundle of thorns. The third, a mixed media work on paper comically shows a disembodied hand shining a flashlight on a “mysterious creature.” "There is a crack in everything. That's how the light gets in." Leonard Cohen