Day 285

Uses for Idealism: A Finished Piece Gouache and ink on paper The dictionary describes idealism, philosophically*, as, “any of various systems of thought in which the objects of knowledge are held to be in some way dependent on the activity of mind.” Growing up, an ideal life unfolded within my imagination, a life I watched…

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Day 283

Never looking, always watching: Inspired by The Guerrilla Girls’ Art Assignment “The Art of Complaining” Ink, graphite, and gouache on paper Art is a form of expression, just as it is a record keeper. Day 283 is inspired by those gorilla masks, the ones you just may have seen, that strengthen the art world, the…

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Day 282

Dreamscape part 5*: Dreams of the Other Half Gouache and graphite on paper *There are five more parts of this series to come, keep an eye out in the next few months. Click these links to see part one, part two, part three, part four.

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Day 281

Youth of the Homo Sapiens (work in progress) part 5* Ink on paper Acknowledgment, even praise,  from childhood  comes in simple forms  engaged smiles. *Today’s drawing belongs to a piece of art in progress. See part one here, part two here, part three here, and part four here. There are more to come, keep your eyes out.

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Day 280

Define This part 4*: Esoteric Watercolor, gouache, ink on paper Esoteric, adjective, is defined by the Oxford Dictionaries as, “Intended for or likely to be understood by only a small number of people with a specialized knowledge or interest.“ *See parts one and two and three. More to come.

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Day 279

Curious Window Eyes: Inspired by Beyte Saar’s “The Black Girl’s Window” Gouache on paper Betye Saar collects bits of the world, listens to the stories they tell, and shares those stories through her artwork. Her 1969 piece Black Girl’s Window caught my attention with it haunting certainty while I was taking the MOMA’s Coursera Modern…

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Day 277

Sibling Visión: Sonja’s Birthday: Part 4 Digital photograph Fifteen years ago today she took her first breath. The first daylight melted through the windows, the room foggy after our mothers labor, our faces stuck in perpetual anticipation. My tiny hands clung to the side of the tub, waiting, watching.  In the nine months leading up…

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