TELEPHONE
TELEPHONE is just like the kids’ game. A message is whispered from one person to another and changes as it is passed. We whisper a message from art form to art form. A message could become a painting, then music, then poetry, then dance. We whisper each finished work of art to multiple artists so the game branches out exponentially.
Our first game, published in 2015, involved 315 artists. Our second game, published in 2021, involved the original and interconnected work of almost 1000 artists from 488 cities in 73 countries. We expect third iteration to be many magnitudes more ambitious. Our team of designers, developers, engineers, and artists are hard at work to build the software required to host this epic endeavor. Currently, we expect to begin engaging artist participants in the summer of 2024, running for approximately one year, with an online exhibition launching in 2025.
Our last game of TELEPHONE is free to the public and exhibited at https://phonebook.gallery/
Our first game, published in 2015, involved 315 artists. Our second game, published in 2021, involved the original and interconnected work of almost 1000 artists from 488 cities in 73 countries. We expect third iteration to be many magnitudes more ambitious. Our team of designers, developers, engineers, and artists are hard at work to build the software required to host this epic endeavor. Currently, we expect to begin engaging artist participants in the summer of 2024, running for approximately one year, with an online exhibition launching in 2025.
Our last game of TELEPHONE is free to the public and exhibited at https://phonebook.gallery/
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My Artist Prompt: A Poem
HATCH Goddess birthed water and Goddess was water. Her breast rose and fell with each swell of river. At each meander her fingers chose each lap of wavelet, her toes flexed foam, curled droplet pearls, her abdomen surged and rolled, forever thus; until-- Time begat an edge, an end, a head, a tail. A stop, a start, a chop, a flail. Swell and swoon rent, fragmented, air sucked in a sharp sip-slurp which, reversed, blew round water’s bend an egg-- Afloat upon the vivid stream, held in its very own basket of woven reeds, a speckled egg laid not by Goddess but by albatross, condor, pterodactyl perhaps-- this glistening globule commences to crack. |
My process statement:
Receiving my artist prompt, a poem with the title, Hatch, was both an exciting and a daunting proposition. I read the poem several times aloud to myself. I slept on it. I'm mulled over. I've fretted over it. The poem is beautiful to read. It has strong visual properties and conceptual properties and movement and time and mystery… After a few days I began to formulate my response. First I wrote the poem down in my journal. Then I dissected it into visual cues that I might be able to use in my sculpture. And then I went into my archive of objects, collecting, combining, adding discarding, making some components, making decisions about how to present them within the framework of my chosen medium. I read and reread the poem many times. I read and reread the words I had gathered from it many times. Slowly it all coalesced and began to take shape. The work is part of a larger series of found object figurative sculptures I began after a visit to the Chinati Foundation in Marfa Texas. It has been ongoing for nearly 20 years (on and off, but always there in the back of my mind). I am overall very happily satisfied with my response. I can hardly wait to see what the next iterations of this work will be. What an amazing project this is. The scope of it is mind-bending. I am honored to be a part of it. |
