word: exploring emotional connotations

  • Word
    exploring emotional connotations
    A book is a powerful vehicle of information composed of many parts. When those parts work harmoniously together the results are remarkable. My goal was to create several books in which each would be brilliantly assembled to support a word. All aspects of the book support this conceptual word, however the word does not appear in the book. The viewer is filled with the sense of the word through thoughtfully chosen text, imagery, binding methods and materials.
    Using what I had learned about the history of the written past and my own understanding of the components which make up a book, I began to experiment with different combinations of form, content and function in order to create several powerful and unique artist books. Each book that I have created plays off the emotional connotations of a selected word in which I try to evoke this specific emotional sense within the viewer.
  • There are only patterns, patterns on top of patterns, patterns that affect other patterns.
    Patterns hidden by patterns. Patterns within patterns.

    —Chuck Palahniuk
  • For like a shaft, clear and cold, the thought pierced him that in the end the shadow was only a small and passing thing: there was light and high beauty for ever beyond its reach.
    —J.R.R. Tolkien
  • You can outdistance that which is running after you,but not what is running inside you.
    —Rwandan Proverb
  • The silence depressed me. It wasn't the silence of silence. It was my own silence. I knew perfectly well the cars were making noise, and the people in them and behind the lit windows of the building were making noise, and the river was making noise, but I couldn't hear a thing. The city hung in my window, flat as a poster, glittering and blinking, but it might just as well not have been there at all, for the good it did me.
    —Sylvia Plath
  • Had the smile not shown the teeth where then would they have been found
    —Kamereon Smoot
  • Sometimes I'm terrified of my heart; of its constant hunger for whatever it is it wants.
    The way it stops and starts.

    —Edgar Allen Poe
  • The bleak fields are asleep,
    My heart alone wakes;
    The evening in the harbour
    Down his red sails takes.

    Night, guardian of dreams,
    Now wanders through the land;
    The moon, a lily white,
    Blossoms within her hand.

    —Rainer Maria Rilke