Dimensions

by Buff

I've always done 2-dimensional art (horrors -- I have no depth, I'm just 2-D!).  Three-D has always scared me a little -- what do you DO with that extra dimension?  But an idea popped into my head in December when I was thinking of what to enter in DVAA's "Art in Sixes" holiday show.  

I thought of a wooden box with little quilts inside.  Then Hank said, "what about quilts on the outside?"  Hmmm.  Then I said "how about a little 'stage' where the quilts would be sort of inside and outside?"  Hank made me two little 6x6x6 wooden boxes, and I was off and running.

You can see the results below:  The first one has a little flower quilt on each of the six sides of the box; you can turn it over and around for a different view every day (except Sunday).  I call it "Picture Cube." 

The other one, "Picture Viewer" (which sold at the show), I think of as a low-tech version of those computerized screens that you program to show ever-changing photographs.  I made five little quilts and hung them on miniature rods; the rods rest in notches and you can choose the one you want to see while the rest are hanging behind.  

The two works were a lot of fun . . . . maybe I'm not so "shallow" after all!  

Endeavor to Persevere

By Tom

I enjoy waking up very early on weekends, heading out to various destinations with camera and tripod to take advantage of the early morning light.  My trips never disappoint.  Sometimes I capture beautiful images but often not. It really doesn’t matter.  Watching the world come to life, witnessing the subtle transition from darkness to light fills a primal, spiritual need.  To experience it satisfies a personal need, and to capture it in images is an artistic challenge.  I enjoy both.  But during the winter months it’s something of a struggle.  The shocking rush of cold air when I reach out from our warm bed to turn off the alarm triggers a search for excuses that doesn’t end until I’m 15 minutes down the road, my car finally warmed up inside, and me sipping some hot coffee.  Sunday morning was one of those instances where I begrudgingly drove up through Port Jervis, following the Delaware up past Barryville.  It would have given instant gratification to turn off the alarm, roll over, and enjoy a few extra hours of sleep.  But instead, I witnessed the sun rising over the mountains, illuminating the river valley with its frost-laden trees. The ice crystals sparkled so brightly that it blinded me to peer through the viewfinder, compose and shoot.  Was it worth it?  Oh yeah.