When Alexis Rockman considers the world’s waterways, he sees them as a network — a transport system that has carried all facets of human history.
From language, culture, art, food, architecture and religion to the more nefarious — such as disease, warfare and pollution — each can be traced back to historic ships.
And, in some cases, notorious shipwrecks.
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When Karin Waisman contemplated the sentence, “The horizon is not a straight line,” two years ago, it held different meaning.
It referred to an open-ended future, an uncertain life full of twists and turns. In her own, that has included earning her architecture degree in her native Argentina and, in an effort to follow her passion, moving to the United States to study art at Cornell University — intending only to stay in New York for a few years.
That was almost three decades ago.
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Every afternoon, like clockwork, Robert Hand Sr. could be found relaxing at his kitchen table in Sag Harbor, watching the birds through the window.
He knew them all. For the renowned decoy carver, they were his friends, his muses, his inspiration — and, in turn, he was their biggest fan.
But in recent weeks, the birds have gone without an audience. Mr. Hand died on January 11 after a cardiopulmonary arrest due to COVID-19 pneumonia at Stony Brook Southampton Hospital, according to his eldest son, Robert Hand Jr. He was 77.
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There is more to George Morton than his sheer, mostly raw talent. Take one look at his dramatically lifelike, poignant pieces, and it’s there — his past, one set against the drug war of the 1990s in Kansas City, one that landed him an 11-year prison sentence.
One that nearly destroyed him.
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Through chalk, Kara Hoblin learned one of the most important lessons that life has to offer: the necessity of letting go. As an artist, that means letting go of her work. As a lover, to let go of heartache. And as a human, to let go of loss, insecurity, hate and pain.
But it doesn’t mean throwing them away, she emphasizes. It simply means letting life be — while growing through the shadows and emerging into the light.
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Eric Dever’s newest body of work, “A Thousand Nows,” is a study in compressed time, the 22 exuberant oils layered with colors that span the artist’s lifetime, from his earliest memories growing up in California.
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Robert Dash was a man with wonderful hands — for writing, for painting, for gardening, for talking, and for petting his beloved Norwich terrier, Barnsley.
He was a man with a proper air, a garrulous nature and an intimidating intelligence, often punctuating his winding sentences with a thoughtful “yes” when he wasn’t speaking Latin, Greek or quoting poetry.
He was a man of contradictions—genuinely caring about those he had barely met, hosting parties and guests at his home while keeping his distance, and equally content reading classic literature or experimenting with new plant material, knee-deep in soil.
Mr. Dash knew who he was. There was only one man like him. And there will never be another.
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Scott Chaskey and his daughter, Rowenna, stood at the entrance of a rather unremarkable shed in the Northwest Woods last week, with dozens of soaring metal sculptures with long, slender legs peeking out.
They were artist Bill King as Mozart, Bill King as John Faddis, Bill King as Mary Magdalene. They were Bill King singing, dancing and holding hands with children. They were Bill King in the furthest stretches of his imagination — a magical place, his family and friends attest, filled with generosity, wit and the driest sense of humor, if it could even be typified as that.
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A carpenter by day, Carlos Barrios has the seasoned hands of a woodworker — rough, meticulous and precise. But for three hours every night, in an unfinished corner of his basement, they become the hands of an unassuming artist.
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