These space colony concept drawings were the result of collaboration between Princeton physicist Gerard O’Neill, the NASA Ames Research Center and Stanford University in the 1970’s. They held a series of space colony summer studies which explored the possibilities of humans living in giant orbiting spaceships.
He rarely spoke of the days when he was at war. Shot from a fighter plane, swam to shore despite not knowing how to swim, and kept in a POW war camp, he came back particularly unimpressed as to how we march through the streets, get pissed in ‘remembrance’, and glorify war. It’s probably why I don’t really participate in Anzac Day, but it still doesn’t stop me thinking about my sweet grandpa Frank.
“New Talisman:” 015 by Y[u]G : Y[o]G : Y[i]G
Mixed media on paper, 2011.
I give myself too freely.
Rafael Canogar: Toledo, 1960
“Toledo, …, is a work of special intensity. The year Canogar painted it, MOMA included it in the New Spanish Painting and Sculpture exhibition. It is, without doubt, one of his most celebrated works. Named after the Castilian city in which he was born, it belongs to that long chain of works which begins with El Greco’s views. The best of these paintings is to be found in New York’s Metropolitan. Nobody should expect to find here the towers, the narrow streets, the Alcázar, the synagogues, the bend in the river Tajo or the skies which so fascinated El Greco. Canogar’s is not a figurative city, but a metaphorical one that he reconstructs from memory. It is the conflict of an action painter who, using solely plastic materials, resurrects Toledo in his dream and constructs an imaginary town on a hill”
Juan Manuel Bonet
Este texto sólo puede reproducirse citando su procedencia: Catálogo del Museo de Arte Abstracto Español (Fundación Juan March), Cuenca
Franz Erhard Walther, ten meters twice (sidesteps), 1977
“Just a few days after Nabokov’s death, there was an invasion of butterflies out in Springs, Long Island. It probably happens every year. But the reason I noticed the butterflies this time was the presence—or the absence—of Nabokov.”
Saul Steinberg, from “Portraits and Landscapes”