I tried to remember if I had ever created anything like Bucaille’s work. I love this work. Versions of this are probably the first collages I discovered. Its as if we have been drawn into another dimension, another reality. As I recall it was a magazine called Bizarre. Using some of their collages I wrote an English essay on Albert Camus. It was something about choices. It was actually 2 essays, split, running paralled down the page beside each other with these occasional collages. When I went to get my essay the English teacher (a pretty woman about 25) opened the door of her office about 3 inches and slid the essay out to me. She gave me a B. I think it was a B. With a big question mark at the end.
His work started in the 1940s. There is very little info about him except that he was good with numbers. And words. And that he had an obsession with his hair. Losing it. He also was not in shape. Failed to crack the rowing team at Oxford. Although I’m not sure he went to the school. Short sighted in his left eye he had an acute sense of smell.
I must say I like his work. Randy Mora. Mostly. But I ask myself what makes his collages seem… unified. There is a neutral background. (And neutral colour) Upon which all the other images appear. And the images seem to grow out of each other. Rather than drift like planets in their solar system. And the images are very 50ish. A popular time for collage creators. His cuts are not seamless. He lets you see where the puzzle parts appear but the cuts are clean. And this fits in with the 50ish images. And I doubt that I will ever create anything that looks like these.
When I wrote this review I felt like Martin Short’s Ed Grimley
You can see Magritte. And Dali. I could go on. There is nothing wrong with having influences. And this artist has ideas. But he is not brilliant. Accomplished sounds insulting. And that is not my intent. But no matter how much I respect his work, I can’t help but thinking that I’ve seen each piece before.
Artist Simon Beck must really love the cold weather! Along the frozen lakes of Savoie, France, he spends days plodding through the snow in raquettes (snowshoes), creating these sensational patterns of snow art. Working for 5-9 hours a day, each final piece is typically the size of three soccer fields! The geometric forms range in mathematical patterns and shapes that create stunning, sometimes 3D, designs when viewed from higher levels.
Sometimes you have to take a look at artists who have a unique medium. In this case… knitting. Inge Jacobsen has created collages by knitting magazine covers, what she calls porno, newspaper clippings. Its clever. Though its not something that I would pursue myself. My fingers aren’t flexible enough. And I get knots.
Surrealism seems like an endless tapping of wonderful work. Dean Fleming’s art falls in that space. They are fun and inventive. They don’t knock my socks off. But then I’m not wearing socks. I’m wearing bandages.
Arcimboldo. What a strange artist. What strange art. Like a parlour game. The equivalent of our modern painting – dogs playing poker.
He was famous. Perhaps like Rod McKuen. Or the multitude of authors in the 50s who sold “Number One Best Sellers” and then were heard no more.
His work (what survived) was re-erected by the surrealists. They must have been looking for some kind of roots. (Movement always do this. Although I don’t see how it makes any difference.) I’m not keen on his work. Once you’ve seen one, you’ve pretty well seen them all.
One of the most wonderful artists. Very American. His work works like jazz. It doesn’t sit still. It moves. Everytime I look at his work I feel… proud. It makes me smile. And sad. That more Americans don’t appreciate this jewel.