Hope you can join us at Observatory for our second ever art opening: "All Sorts of Remedies," an exhibition by Observatory member and book entrepreneur Herbert Pfostl. The event takes place this Saturday, November 21st at 7:00pm, and is free and open to the public. Hope to see you there!
Full details below:
"All Sorts of Remedies," Herbert PfostlDirections to the event can be found here. All images sourced from A Journey Round My Skull's post on the exhibition, which features many additional images and which can be viewed in full by clicking here. Click on images to see much finer larger versions.
Observatory
543 Union Street – at Nevins
Brooklyn, NY 11215
Opening: Saturday, November 21st at 7:00pm
Exhibition: November 21, 2009 – January 8, 2010
Thurs & Friday 3–6pm
Sat & Sun 12–6pm
Small paintings as parables of plants and animals and old stories of black robbers and white stags. Fragments on death like mirrors from a black sleep in the forests of fairy tales. All stories from the dust of the dead in fragments and footnotes like melodies of heartbreak and north and night and exploration – breakdowns. About saints with no promise of heaven and lost sailors forgotten and the terribly lonely bears. The unknown, the ugly – and the odd. Collected grand mistakes, noble errors from many sources. Sinking signals – conscious or not – sonatas and last letters and great insults. The impossible tears in landscapes of ocean or stranded whales. A going far back to coals and cruelties and sobbing like songs in whiskey and blood. Of soldiers' last letters and all seven seas. With pirates and wars and prayers in holes in the ground. Of fallen women and orphaned children and drowned slaves and burned saints.
Herbert Pfostl is the creator of Blind Pony Books and the Paper Graveyard, and is also the buyer for the store at New York's New Museum.
Observatory is a presentation and exhibition space in the Gowanus neighborhood of Brooklyn. The space seeks to present programming residing at the interstices of learning and amusement, art and science, and history and curiosity.
2 comments:
Stunning images!
My Mother Prays for Death
She is the poet of dead-ends, old despairs
written in whispers, beads slipping between
her fingers like peas dropping into soup.
In her hands, the rosary is a ring of bones,
yellow as old ivory, hard as living.
Her wooden suitcase holds nothing.
She doesn’t need what she leaves behind:
the empty house, the worthless bed,
the pictures she gathered over the years.
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