Will Nixon, February 2021
The 2021 Green Kill February Exhibition presents Howard Miller, Will Nixon, Lynne Stone.
The 2021 Green Kill Februaruy Exhibition presents Howard Miller, Will Nixon, Lynne Stone.
The exhibition will be open, Saturday the 13, 5-7 PM and runs from February 13, 2021 to February 27, 2021. Exhibition hours are from 3-5:30 PM, Tuesday through Saturday. You may make special appointments by calling 347-689-2323.
New Normal health concerns are a primary. The customary Green Kill opening of beverages with finger foods will be covered for protection. If you wish to come on opening day, please understand that 10 people are permitted in the gallery at one time, that all attendees must were face masks, and we will us a “Non-Contact Infrared Digital Thermometer” and “Pulse Oximeter Blood Oxygen Level Monitor” for screening. There were be outside seating for your convenience. Green Kill is equipped with a heat pump so the air is constantly refreshed and the space is, as always, sanitized.
Five years ago, brand new to iPhone photography, I was given a poetry workshop assignment to bring in a pair of selfies. Before that, I hadn't owned a camera or taken anything but snapshots since college in the late 1970s. Nor did I like having my own picture taken. I have a queasy camera smile that shows up all too often in group photos. Nonetheless, I stepped out into the yard to snap my first selfies, then retreated to the couch to see the results. I was aghast. Did I really look that old, that miserable? When had I grown such a deep worry line between my eyebrows?
Two thoughts saved me. First, Jack Nicholson to whom I bear no resemblance but like to think I do. He's not handsome, yet he's riveting on camera. Second, Cindy Sherman's Film Stills for which she dressed up as various ingenues at anxious moments in noire movies that were never made. I decided my selfie didn't need to be a flattering image good for a dating site. Instead, I should play a character
in my own little mystery. In the workshop we were told to think of Narcissus as we wrote poems inspired by our selfies. So Narcissus I became.
Not many weeks later Christmas threatened. I needed to buy presents for my father and brother who'd visit me in Woodstock for the holiday, but on a whim I decided to buy myself a gift first in a fancy toy store off the Village Green. As soon as I entered I knew what I wanted: the rubber animal masks hung on the wall behind the counter. But which one?
Twenty years earlier upon leaving midtown Manhattan for a Catskills log cabin I'd chosen the bear as my totem animal, a totem I took seriously. I read about bear mythology and learned to spot bear claw marks on beech trees that matched the size of my hands. Fitting my fingertips to their scratch marks I felt like we could be kin.
Then I acquired a bear rug I kept folded on a table by my writing desk. Needing a break I'd spin in my chair to nod at my unflagging friend as if I was Johnny Carson and he was my Ed McMahon, but with small eyes, shiny teeth, and black fur that smelled like fine leather gloves. I learned a lot about myself by learning about bears.
A bear mask hung on the toy store wall, but I'd left the cabin long ago and wanted to move forward in life. Why I chose this crow—or is it a raven? I still can't decide—I don't really know. The bear was an obvious totem for cabin solitude, but crows can thrive anywhere. Perhaps a mystic or shaman can explain what the crow reveals about my psyche and soul. What I do know for sure is that I bought this sword-beaked companion without any purpose in mind. It's not like I collect masks or do Halloween. As I left, though, as I closed the door behind me, I thought, why not take this thing over to the cemetery to take a selfie?
The rest is history. The rest appears in this show.