My new banners are now installed in the woods just in advance of the Alamance Studio Tour this weekend. (October 15-16) The leaves are starting to turn, the forecast is excellent, and I’m expecting thousands upon thousands of visitors.
Because my Kickstarter campaign overachieved its goal, I was able to add seven banners instead of the original six. Here’s some pix of the new work in situ:
Leaves after Miro
Leaves after Cezanne
Leaves after Picasso
Leaves after Matisse
Leaves after Gericault
Leaf after Klee
While I am not the sort who would wish anything that might rush winter, I’m very interested to see how banners change in their settings as the trees turn color in fall, and, especially, how the last one, “Leaf after Klee” looks in the snow.
By my count that’s nearly 30 banners that are now hanging around the woods here, in addition to the canvas prints in the yurt gallery. So come on by the 15th and 16th or any other time (but please call ahead).
While I’m not sure it had much impact on Wall Street or the foreign markets, I’m pleased to say the economy is a bit brighter around these parts since my Kickstarter campaign has successfully reached its goal. Thanks to all of you who became backers and ambassadors. I hope to see you all out here in the woods once the new banners are installed.
And if you’ve been meaning to back the project because you wanted a print or a banner or an ambassadorship, it’s not too late. The project is open until Wednesday, September 21 at 1:00 p.m. All backer rewards are still available at all levels. For me, if the campaign goes past the goal, I’ll add more banners to the gallery. Just follow this link:
We’re a ways inland from the shore here at Bourbon, Dogs and Art, North Carolina. So even though they call North Carolina “hurricane alley” you might say we’re over on the next block. In the past we’ve prepared for a number of hurricanes, and sometimes it mattered and sometimes it didn’t. It’s that first hurricane where you should have cared but didn’t that sets the tone for the rest.
At any rate, if you’re living on the East Coast right now there’s no more overused phrase than “batten down the hatches” as Hurricane Irene heads up the coast.
What actually are battens you might ask? They’re slim strips of wood used to secure a tarp over a hatch on a boat as a storm approaches, or as you approach a storm. But over time it’s come to mean, “get yer shit together… NOW.”
So here we battened our hatches as has become our habit since we arrogantly tried to ride out Hurricane Fran in a travel trailer back in ’95. And now Hurricane Irene is headed north and not much happened here at Bourbon, Dogs and Art. We got some wind and some nasty gusts that brought some limbs down, and some rain but no downpours. But our preparations would only seem like overkill if you’re a rookie. (What’s a rookie? Someone who can’t believe there isn’t a flashlight battery available within 100 miles 48 hours before the storm is due. Sucker.)
Anyway, enough foreplay.
As you might know, I’m working on a Kickstarter campaign to raise money to print more woodland banners. As the wind started whipping up I figured it might be educational to document how the current banners handle an approaching storm. So me, The Gerret and Maggie (the dogs) took a walk. Shot some video.
I was trying to create a rather foreboding video as the tall pines whipped back and forth in the wind and the banners held on for dear life.
But Gerret and Maggie weren’t really with the program.
To digress for a moment, if you were following the news earlier this week there was that rare East Coast earthquake followed by a human interest story about how all the animals in the DC zoo reacted in advance of the event. Well in this case, Gerret and Maggie went out of their way to eschew my personal sense of drama and make it clear that there was nothing to fear but showing up late for dinner.
So here you see our version of Hurricane Irene, the woodland banners and the dogs.
Great concept, Kickstarter. You define a creative project with a total budget. You announce a deadline for raising that money. Friends, Romans and countrymen can pledge toward that budget total in return for rewards that increase with the size of the pledge. If the goal is met before the deadline, the project is funded and the pledges are cashed in, CA-CHING! (I.e., your credit card gets billed for your pledge amount.) The project proceeds and the investors receive their rewards. If you don’t make the goal, nobody gives any money and nobody gets any rewards and the project is up a proverbial creek.
Scary all-or-nothing things those Kickstarter campaigns.
Anyway.
I’ve launched a Kickstarter campaign. The goal is to be able to print at least six of the new images I talked about in “Cicadas, leaves and art” as large banners to install as part of the permanent installation that has become the Bourbon, Dogs and Art outdoor art gallery.
Above you see the six images. I call them, clockwise from upper left: “Leaves after Miro,” “Leaves after Matisse,” “Leaves after Géricault,” “Leaves after Picasso,” “Leaves after Cezanne,” and “Leaves after Dali.”
Here’s how I imagine they might look installed in the woods. (These are Photoshop mockups.)
You can read a lot more about the project on the Kickstarter website, where you can also look at the video, etc.
I’m trying to raise $1200 and I’ve got 30 days, actually now 29+ days as of right now, to do it. I’m hoping readers of this blog and fans of my work will jump in quickly and help so this project can develop some momentum. Plus, you’ll become an official Bourbon, Dogs and Art Ambassador with all the rights and privileges one might expect from such an exalted post. (I’m not positive it includes diplomatic immunity, but if you go ahead and test that possibility, please let me know how it works out for you.)
Supporters will also be rewarded with an art print of their favorite image of this series. In fact, higher level supporters can get their very own banners. Check the Kickstarter page for details and check back there or here for updates.
This is a long story of dubious importance but I’ve got to get it behind me. It’s an overarching tale of life and death that starts 13 years ago and ends with a new series of digital images that I’m really excited about. Keep in mind that I’m not a botanist or an entomologist, just an artist. So I’m telling you what I saw and you can speculate as to its veracity.
Here’s the story. Back around the beginning of May, here in North Carolina (and elsewhere) we experienced the emergence of the XIX brood of 13-year periodic cicadas. Typically we get a species of annual cicada that shows up in late summer and makes a some racket in the trees, but nothing like this periodic cicada, which comes out in huge numbers and basically overwhelms the environment, parties for a month or so and then disappears for 13 more years. Sort of like the Sturgis biker rally in the Black Hills except most of those guys come back ever year.
The first thing you notice is all these pod husks sticking to everything. They’re on the tree trunks, the sides of buildings, on the ground. You look up and they’re all over the leaves in the trees. You look down and you notice the ground is full of little holes. Thousands of holes. And there’s a pod husk laying around for every hole. They’re here in force. They’ve been hiding underground for 13 years waiting for this moment. Apparently they all set an alarm on their iPhones: Party – May 2011 – Don’t miss, you’re gonna get laid.
Then you notice the cicadas. They’re a bit smaller than the annual cicadas, and more striking by virtue of the fact that unlike their annual brethren, they have glowing red eyes. I want to just say they have red eyes, but I had to add “glowing” in order to explain that I noted that when they’re dead their eyes turn black. There’s some serious movie potential here.
Like some sort of bug version of “Invasion of the Body Snatchers” the landscape gets littered with pod husks, all split up the back where a cicada has emerged. When they first emerge they’re almost albino colored, but if you’ve got some patience you can watch them turn from white to dark in a few minutes. It’s very vulnerable time for the cicadas. They’ll basically be in a daze for a day or so while their wings harden and ergo dinner for any aspiring predator (including some human types). Then they fly off to congregate at party central.
There they all start singing together in an attempt to find a mate. They sing for a month. Until all those multitudinous sex drives are satisfied. If you’re in the vicinity you might as well shut up and listen because it’s too loud to think, much less talk. Here’s ten seconds.
But all of this is preamble. The essential idea of this story is that once all the singing is over, the female moves out near the end of a branch, scratches a deep groove in said branch and lays her eggs. If this was a story about cicadas I’d go on to explain that at this point the cicadas all die, the eggs hatch slugs that fall on the ground, dig down a foot or two in the ground and set their alarms for 13 years.
But this isn’t a story about cicadas. It’s a story about leaves and art and the weather. What happens when the 13-year cicada gets done is that the branch tips where they laid their eggs die because the cicadas have carved up the bark. So once the partying stops and the cicadas disappear there are all these tips of tree branches that are dead.
At least that’s what happened this year in Saxapahaw, NC.
Soon after, every time there was a rain or a windstorm these dead branch tips would fall and litter the landscape. Not all that different than what might happen in the fall, except unlike a typical fall, this was happening in mid-summer in extreme heat and drought conditions. And I began noticing that the dead leaves were turning various interesting, unusual colors that weren’t all that typical of fall colors. Instead of “end of life” colors you see in the fall from leaves, this was more “died in the prime of life” colors, thicker, deeper, more mottled. Rich ochres next to alizarin crimsons next to viridian greens next to raw umbers.
Okay, I over-romanticize, but the point I’m getting to is that suddenly there was this great new palette for me to create images with. It was as reminiscent of oil paints as it was nature. Again, I make no claims to scientific evidence, just my version of cause-and-effect based on limited observation.
For the past several months I’ve been gathering up these various dead and dying leaves and putting them on the scanner. Until now I’ve leaned toward minimalist images for my banners, enjoying the contrast they present when reintroduced into the original environment. But these cicada-and-heat-treated leaves and the palette they provided pretty much pushed me in the direction of being painterly.
So here, thanks to the 13-year cicadas, near drought-level lack of moisture and more humid 100-degree days than I can remember, is a new set of images I’m hoping to turn into banners. I’ve even gone so far as to name each image after a famous painter I’m reminded of when I look at it.
Announcing the Bourbon, Dogs and Art CafePress shop. It features shirts, greeting cards and other stuff adorn with images inspired by my art as well as a variety of logo-centric items and underwear.
To celebrate the opening I will send a free 8×10 signed print on 100% archival rag paper to the first three people who email me a photograph of themselves wearing a t-shirt from the Bourbon, Dogs and Art store. In fact, I’m feeling so generous that I’ll send your choice of TWO prints to the first person who sends a picture of themselves wearing underwear from the Bourbon, Dogs and Art store.
Email your photo to tacit60-at-gmail-dot-com. Tell me which print you want. Give me permission to put your photo on this blog. Be sure to include your mailing address.
Here’s the prints to choose from. (The originals are not watermarked.)
Bourbon, Dogs and Art is a blog by Steven Durland. It is mainly about bourbon, dogs and art (and chickens). BDA is also the name of his art studio. More about that and other bits of practical information available at durland dot com.
We’re a ways inland from the shore here at Bourbon, Dogs and Art, North Carolina. So even though they call North Carolina “hurricane alley” you might say we’re over on the next block. In the past we’ve prepared for a number of hurricanes, and sometimes it mattered and sometimes it didn’t. It’s that first hurricane where you should have cared but didn’t that sets the tone for the rest.
