Found Art Friday Twenty Ate

Really?
It's today already?
Here are some worlds and whirls of color from Jim Lindenthal @ Point Lobos on the outskirts of the Big Sur:

And resurfacing yet again, thanks to Bonnie Hotz, is the Saga of the Squashed Abandoned Glove  

Actually now becoming Glove Looking for its Mate,
a friend of Gloves off Work:

And by the way, our dog Bailey is not spoiled or anything

 

And our twelve yr. old boy is making his own Halloween costume as all the Art Ranger's of the worlds children must:

 Happy Sugar Season to you and your kins.  May the jack - o- lanterns make that warm slightly burnt insides smell for you, and then (quick as a bunny) begin to mold like there's no tomorrow.

Found Art Medical follow-up after last month's stunning collision with bike and dog.  Art Ranger's job security is enhanced by having functional arms and legs.  Thankfully, she's now got 97% of limb back.  From a coke can of blood trapped over hip (words of ortho surgeon) to about a tennis ball's worth.  It no longer feels like there is a water balloon stuck in one side of the pant.  Now to unlimp the limb is to re-align the ligaments and reweave the rib notches, nudging the stretches along each day and remembering to take ten minute breaks to look up at the sky.

Found Art Friday 27

Blogo wow blogo woo,
Art Ranger has for you just a few offerings from the natural world:

This is something we must do, which is be regular about our Found Art micro-discovery mission, even if we are late for Friday, and if the treasured folks have not come forth with the images to share:

Our google runneth over, and we wish we had bought some stock in it.  We have no intention of correctly identifying the species, just enjoying the sculpture.
Have an enlivened week.

Saga of the Squashed Abandoned Glove

And so it was and is.

All summer long, there was a squashed abandoned leather work glove in the neighborhood dogwalking lane. Each time, we'd wave to it in the dusty woodchips, the leather fingers splayed, flattened, blended and tired with gravity, thinking one day I'll pick you up and take you home.  One day I'll bring the camera and capture your gesture so grounded and ground in.  And finally one fine day I did.  Swinging camera around neck, all glad about the scenery and the variety of holes in the fence, with creative orange twine repair jobs where the Ranger gets to live, and guess what   ... small gasp? ...   The squashed abandoned glove was gone!  Vanished, just like that.  Perhaps it never existed, in fact.  Someone either liked it as much as I did, or disliked it enough to pick it up? Or merely decided that it was not part of the woodchip motif after all.  I felt a strange foreign grooming or tampering of my familiar terrain.  It was an empty spot and slightly grieving for the forgotten form, like a painting that leaves a sunprint on the wall behind.  
Why did we even feel feelings (slightly bereft) about this? And even more so, why should Art Ranger try to entice you to care about this? 


The Ranger realized that she had always enjoyed squashed abandoned gloves over the years, and remembered that, in fact, there was a very old specimen in her studio.  With exquisitely fine stitching, mummified, time-frozen.  A fancy dame on a lovely outing with a corresponding hat.  (It's very different, the lost glove from the abandoned glove).

All of them are the starts or middles of stories, that will stand still for you, or turn you wrong-side-out with wonderment at the gesture.  They are a portal:  a happening, a vestige of some human labor or adventure, not a deliberate art work, but a situational type of advanced discard, not exactly litter.

At times, a squashed abandoned glove becomes a temporary axis of happenstance and  a deliberate shedding of something.  That dirty tiring job. That icky sticky or toxic situation.  Someone can now go home feeling nice and fresh and clean.


Like the urge to take the energy to snap a photo of something you've noticed, the SAG gently calls out for your attention.  For you to frame around it, a glimpse of current archaeological evidence.  

A glove is just a thin covering manufactured as a membrane between you and "nature" or the nature of work. Or the nature of your leisure. Or even your desire, to "get a grip"!

Please, Ranger would be so pleased if your sighting of an orphaned object caused you to pause enough to send:
FAF@homelandinspiration.org  

Found Art Friday 26

Hello Bloggoriffs,
Today's toast to Found Art Friday:
From a friend in Oakland, two collected pieces of what she calls "grafitini"

broken handle of heirloom rolling pin that will get fixed but now reminds us of cuts of meat

You must be feeling pretty good because this tomato is smiling at you.

from Robin Brailsford, deeply in Dulzura, California

who seems to breathe out found art all the time!

While blogging, Art Ranger has often been surprised by how she thinks she knows who might read the blog, but she really has not the vaguest idea and goeth forth anyhow because it is her dutiful duty to do  so and suddenly someone arrives there.  Today we heard from writer, artisan, Bridget Skjordahl all the way in St. Thomas and also all the way from about thirty years ago. 

A mesmerizing moment caught:

http://www.youtube.com/profile?user=bskjordahl#p/u/0/Ui67ufstycc

Cheers! and have an art full week, or at least eat plenty of fruits and vegetables.

ART RANGER needs You!

Found Art Friday 25

Welcome Back to or from the Department of Homeland Inspiration:  This week's selections:

(We can't help but consider the fashionable jowl hair of Mr. Squirrel)

 

 

 

 

(or the fawn's lovely lollypop and electrical tape style chin stripe)

Those 4 images brought to you by Jim Lindenthal who really knows how to pic em.

And Now, brought to you by Artist At Large, is the Found Art Subset of  The Squashed abandoned glove which will soon be followed by some accompanying meditative words:

And once you start to appreciate squashed abandoned gloves, you'll see them everywhere.  Beginnings of stories.

ART RANGER NEEDS YOU!

Let it soak

While still immersed in the art of injury repair, the Ranger's range has as of late become a bit curtailed in geographical area. Medical flotsam funnels into Art Point of View at the Department of Homeland Inspiration, which is essential to the hip healing obsession.  Favorably, she has come upon the marvelous phenomenon of the ten minute break (while slightly upsidedown).   Improving indeed.

She has rarely ever really had an excuse to soak before now:

While soaking, or lying around (like a dog), the A Ranger is also trying to stretch like a dog or cat does with an extra spinal re-activation flourish.  She has also taken the time to appreciate the knots in the wood of her "architectural surround":

Speaking of letting it soak.  A sonic experience has been gathered for you:  An internetal accident find - who or how or why it got made out of Louise Bourgeois singing?  Lord knows,  but please, you must go there: 
http://www.youtube.com/user/umbert510#p/a/u/1/tMTljATnIHs

and let it soak

while singing

This sound making reverie (and for certain this artist's life of production) is a different kind of time than our culture tries to allow.  It just so goes against the odds.

In May, we posted a memorial celebration of the sculpture and character of Louise:
http://artranger.blogspot.com/2010/06/passings.html

Until Friday,
Blogololly Berry

Found Art Friday 24

Glad you don't have that too?

Welcome to an evening edition of Found of Found Art Friday. 

Jeff found it, Melissa captured it

from Nina Katchadourian of Brooklyn

Peachy Keen

A siting by Gary Ghirardi :  "Proof of Terror operating in Las Vegas Mini-bar"

Congratulations to Esquire Anonymous for guessing one of the microbial images and winning a sample of Corral de Tierra Honey:

What do you think?  Send us a guess.

It was quite heartening to the Ranger that last week's display of bruised haunch a la eggplant elicited healing wishes.  Things are getting slowly repaired in there. Various healthcare experts all say different things besides one similar thing, rest.  Now we just have a hematoma on hip worthy of birthing a small creature.  After saying the words epsom salts enough times, you just have to get in it for a long ssoak. 

Well Folks, if these images are "art" then it begs the question, what is Art?  Which no one can answer exactly, so that keeps us in business.  Until we meet again.