Saturday, April 25, 2009

Falling softly


If you have not had the pleasure of experiencing the lovely mixed media works of Isca Greenfield-Sanders then I would say there is no better time than now (See above).
The artist, daughter of the legendary photographer Timothy Greenfield, has made much of her work from anonymous vintage photographs that she has collected over the years. Applying her mathematical skills (she majored in both mathematics and painting) she uses watercolors and pencils to makes tiny tiles that when pieced together equal the sum of the painting. She then creates whimsical slices of hazy poolside memories, summers long ago, gentle beach scenes, and my personal favorites: parachutes falling sweetly from the sky.

Drawing

83 degrees. Cher chou-chou, I drew this for you. One handed.


Les Chansons de Barbara

Perhaps I've come a bit late to the party, but recently I've been enchanted by the late French chanteuse, Barbara. The song, Ce Matin-La (1963), in particular is such a beautiful and haunting tune that it inspired me to learn a bit more about this lesser known, melancholic singer. So, being the inquisitive Francophile that I am, I did a little research and found that Barbara (given name Monique Serf) was a bit of a left bank darling in the late 1950's. A poet, musician and artist in her own right, Barbara had joined French legends such as Edith Piaf and Juliette Greco by the tender age of twenty-seven. She was a stunning presence on stage (reportedly raven haired, lanky and hypnotic in her hymns), and she created art as sensitive and passionate as she was rumored to have been. She sang mostly of lost love and heartache, and always with a honeyed charm that made her music sweetly nostalgic in a way that stands the test of time. Sometimes moody, sometimes poppy, but always a joy to listen to, I like to think of her as a slightly shadowy and obscure Audrey Hepburn-esque beauty with a voice all her own. 

Friday, April 24, 2009

Taken from a web of dreams and memories you may have had. Captured dearly by Mark Borthwick.