x
Manifesto "The poet is of no party." Baudelaire
Our manifesto is an act of substantiation.
We reject all forms of futilitarianism, in whatever disguise.
We believe that comedy is the song of the village and tragedy the song of the goat.
We believe what is written in the books, but now we want to see for ourselves.
The single idea, beating on the same doors in vain.
The analogue and the invention.
The death cell.
The first permission.
Though we watch the stage for things to happen, though our minds wander.
By ourselves in the green field, playing our diversion.
Though the story begins with the loss of a home.
Out of the machine, we shift restlessly in our seats.
  • ABOUT
  • SUBMISSIONS
  • FEED
Menu

Harp & Altar

Issue: ELEVEN, WINTER 2022
13 | 12 | 11 | ARCHIVE: 1–10
{ Manifesto }
ABOUT • CONTRIBUTORS
SUBMISSIONS • FEED

Hatchling Year

February 20, 2023 Jessica Baran
Wolkoff_01_BlackRock_1800.jpg
Wolkoff_02_LewisFarm_1800.jpg
Wolkoff_03_PloverHill_1800.jpg
Wolkoff_04_FreshSwamp_1800.jpg
Wolkoff_05_Greenway_1800.jpg
Wolkoff_06_GardenLot_1800.jpg
Wolkoff_07_RodmansHollow_1800.jpg
Wolkoff_08_OldMill_1800.jpg
Wolkoff_09_SnakeHole_1800.jpg
Wolkoff_10_SouthwestPoint_1800.jpg


Migrating birds fly more than 3,000 miles twice a year. They most often stick to the coast, following paths they inherently know. However, young birds who are making the trip for the first time regularly get lost. These “hatchling year” birds get pushed out to sea by wind and weather and often die if they don't make landfall. On top of the innate dangers of migration, birds are facing imminent decline due to habitat loss. The 2022 State of the Birds Report indicates that more than 5 billion birds have been lost in the past 50 years.

The photographs included in this portfolio offer an imagined bird's-eye perspective of these lost birds. I made these photographs on Block Island, a key resting spot for migrating birds on the Atlantic Flyway, where I have been photographing for the past twenty-five years. Migrating birds arrive on Block Island—located eleven miles off the coast of Rhode Island—dehydrated and disoriented, on the verge of death. These photographs were made with a large-format pinhole camera, purposefully giving me little control over composition or exposure. Exploiting the chaotic nature of the lensless camera, these photographs present views of the landscape that are simultaneously seductive and disorienting—similar to the experience of the birds.

Block Island has a long history of land conservation and habitat protection, which is part of the reason it remains an important refuge for migrating birds. A lifelong island resident born in 1877 named Elizabeth Dickens is responsible for much of this preservation. Dickens, known as the Bird Lady of Block Island, was a turkey farmer and self-taught ornithologist.  She made daily journal entries of every bird she saw for more than 50 years from her remote house on the southwest corner of the island.  When a bird died on the island, local residents would bring it to her and she would have it taxidermied. She collected more than 150 stuffed birds that flew through or lived on Block Island. She used these specimens to teach bird study in the Block Island school, thus ensuring generations of island residents knew about birds, bird migrations, and the importance of habitat preservation.

I consider Elizabeth Dickens to be both a muse and a mentor, despite the fact that she died fifteen years before I was born. My work as an artist and educator is deeply influenced by her practice and life. These landscape photographs are part of a larger body of work that includes silhouettes of Dickens’s entire collection of stuffed birds, which I photographed in 2005, as well as an index of the bird’s tags photographed in 2022. These three projects comprise my forthcoming book entitled Taken from a Cat: Bird Migration and Death.

—Katherine Wolkoff


All works: Digital C prints, 40” x 50”, 2020–2022. From top to bottom: Black Rock, Lewis Farm, Plover Hill, Fresh Swamp, Greenway, Garden Lot, Rodman’s Hollow, Old Mill, Snake Hole, Southwest Point. All images courtesy of Benrubi Gallery.

 

In art Tags wolkoff

Map of Her Prayers

February 20, 2023 Jessica Baran
Ganjian_01_1800.jpg
Ganjian_02_1800.jpg
Ganjian_03_1800.jpg
Ganjian_04_1800.jpg
Ganjian_05_1800.jpg
Ganjian_06_1800.jpg
Ganjian_07_1800.jpg
Ganjian_08_1800.jpg
Ganjian_09_1800.jpg
Ganjian_10_1800.jpg
Ganjian_11_1800.jpg
Ganjian_12_1800.jpg



This series of six sculptural reliefs, titled Map of Her Prayers, was made after the death of my grandmother in 2017 and serves as a memorial to her. There are four things to know about her: she was an Armenian immigrant from Istanbul who emigrated to Massachusetts in the 1980s; she was fiercely devout; she was a talented seamstress; and she had a collection of prayer books that she would often read from. After her death, I inherited a couple of these books.

This work was partly inspired by medieval reliquaries, in the Eastern Orthodox tradition, known for their ornate decorative details and their devotional appeal. In my reliefs, I’ve incorporated reproductions of imagery from the prayer books, as well as certain words: “Lord,” “God,” and “Holy” (in Armenian). As I contemplate the placement of words within these compositions, I feel like I am mapping out a prayer in her honor—the repetition of words like a spiritual incantation.

The other elements in the reliefs complete my portrait of her. I collected metal scraps from a local lighting factory, which I employed as ornamental flourishes, but they also reminded me of the metal hardware connected to her vocation: the old Singer machine with its steel parts, the bobbins, thimbles, and other tools. It also seemed fitting to include some sewing pins and velvet scraps. For what could not be found, I modeled small clay elements to represent plaited fabric and trim and sewing notions.

Through composing and constructing, cutting and gluing, I invent a sacred landscape as a way to channel my grief—creation as an antidote to loss. One of the reliefs, Map of Her Prayers #3, actually contains her worry beads in the central compartment. Touching the objects she had once touched transports me across the divide between us.

 —Linda Ganjian

Map of Her Prayers #1, #2, #4, #5, #6: mixed media (metal pieces, board, paint, vintage prayer book, plastic jewels, velvet on wood), 13'' x 13'' x 4'', 2019. Map of Her Prayers #3: mixed media (metal pieces, board, paint, vintage prayer book, plastic jewels, velvet, prayer beads in pill capsule, on wood), 13'' x 13'' x 4'', 2019.

From top to bottom: Map of Her Prayers #1, Map of Her Prayers #1 (detail), Map of Her Prayers #2, Map of Her Prayers #2 (detail), Map of Her Prayers #3, Map of Her Prayers #3 (detail), Map of Her Prayers #4, Map of Her Prayers #4 (detail), Map of Her Prayers #5, Map of Her Prayers #5 (detail), Map of Her Prayers #6, Map of Her Prayers #6 (detail).

  

In art Tags ganjian, ganjian_b